


While You Were Sleeping

by TastesLikeRain



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Bottom Morty Smith, Bottom Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Incest, M/M, Masturbation, RaM Mini Bang 2020, Rimming, Somnophilia, Top Morty Smith, Top Rick Sanchez, Voyeurism, generally a lot of fucking smut and banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:02:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27064597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TastesLikeRain/pseuds/TastesLikeRain
Summary: There's nothing weird about getting a hotel room and taking a post-adventure nap with Rick, right? The universe is exhausting, and sometimes it's nice to recharge in a place where you won't be disturbed.But there probablyissomething weird about getting super hard from your grandpa's sleeping body rubbing up against you. Yeah... there's clearly something very, very wrong with Morty. At least Rick hasn't noticed... right?
Relationships: Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Comments: 55
Kudos: 237
Collections: RaM Mini Bang 2020





	While You Were Sleeping

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, RaM fam! Nice to see you again. :) I know I told some of you I had a fest fic in the works ages ago, and the posting day is finally here! Here's a little something I wrote for the RaM Mini Bang, and please enjoy the gorgeous, outstanding, deliciously smutty art my collaborators made for this perverted story.
> 
> Artists in order as they appear: 
> 
> [@KowaiSnail](https://twitter.com/KowaiSnail) made that epic cover art!
> 
> [@rickxoxomorty](https://twitter.com/rickxoxomorty) made the next gorgeous smutty art!
> 
> [@futagogo](https://twitter.com/futagogo) created the final beautiful piece in this fic!

  
“Goddamnit, Morty, pick up the fucking pace! Th-this isn’t mall-walking with Bea Arthur and her gang of crusty broads. We’re trying to get out of here with our hearts still beating, Morty!” Rick grabbed a fistful of Morty’s shirt and yanked him forward. Morty let out a string of frustrated half-syllables and tried to will his skinny legs to keep pushing, pushing, pushing. 

“I-I’m trying, Rick! I’m just running out of steam here!”

“You’re a teenager, Morty! Y-y-you’re body’s in its caveman-instinct prime!” They rounded a corner of the labyrinthian hallway, and Rick took advantage of the temporary cover, turning around to fire several shots at the Gromflomites. As Rick blasted the head off one of the creatures, Morty did his best to aim at the arms of another. Gromflomites basically had the build of oversized insects. A well-placed blow could snap their limbs off completely, and they couldn’t very well shoot at you with two detached arms. “You’re basically just an endocrine system attached to a big, fat useless head. Your-your limbic response hasn’t figured out how dampen the fuck, fight, or flight shit with any semblance of rational thought yet. Stop complaining and run!” 

While the next batch of aliens stepped over the corpses of their fallen brethren, Rick gave Morty’s wrist a sharp tug and took off running down the seemingly endless corridor. 

The space station was a convoluted maze with disorienting traps at every turn. Some hallways transported you to completely opposite ends of the structure. Others had telepathic waves that came from who knows where—sonic emissions from hidden speakers? Creatures who lived in the walls? Morty had no idea; he’d decided long ago to heed Rick’s advice and just slap a bold _“don’t think about it”_ sticker on a lot of perplexing horrors in the galaxy. The telepathic powers dug into your deepest thoughts and whispered insidious warnings about your darkest secrets until you were so bewildered, you barely remembered your own name, let alone which end of the hallway you’d just come from. Rick was pretty adept at shutting it out, but Morty was helpless against it. It felt like someone was reaching a spindly finger into the depths of his mind, plucking out shameful morsels to feast on. 

With a brigade of Gromflomite assassins on their tail, there wasn’t much time to stop and study the mechanics of this intricate puzzle. So they’d just kept running and running, Rick cataloguing the reactions and devices of each chamber they passed through, mentally mapping it with a speed and accuracy that confounded Morty—he could barely catch his breath, let alone spare a moment to think about how this baffling building worked—hoping to find their way back to the vestibule where they’d parked the ship.

“Haha, fuckwads! A few glorified illusions can’t stop me. Ch-check it out, Morty!” Morty stopped nervously looking over his shoulder long enough to see what Rick was talking about. They’d done it! Their ship was sitting at the end of the hallway, and Morty didn’t think he’d ever been more grateful to see anything in his whole life. “You idiots think you’re _The Prestige,_ but this place is some corny, retired-magician-in-Vegas type shit. Kept expecting to turn a corner and find Criss Angel dressed like a fucking pickup artist.”

Rick opened the door to the ship, turning around to flip off the Gromflomites before climbing inside. Even when death seemed imminent, Rick had to have the last word, shoving his victory in the faces of his enemies. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied with the whole not-dying bit, Morty would have rolled his eyes. He scrambled in after Rick, not breathing easy until they were in the sky, the creatures below reduced to microscopic ants shaking their fists as Rick and Morty sailed away to freedom.

“Fuck, I need a drink.” Rick put the ship on autopilot and reached into his lab coat, pulling out his trusty flask and taking a long, greedy gulp. 

“H-how did you figure out where it was?” Morty leaned back in his seat, and let his heavy eyelids fall closed. Sweat was trickling down his forehead, but he couldn’t be bothered with it. Besides, he couldn’t think of anything in this ship that was clean enough to wipe away the grime.

“It’s easy once you figure out the pattern, Morty. Th-the biggest mistake those idiots made is not randomizing the whole machine. They’re too fucking lazy to do that because then they’d-UURRPP-they’d have to keep track of which corridor does what, and their wormy brains are too small to make an eidetic picture of it.”

“Eidetic?” Morty slurred, sleep beginning to overtake him. Rick huffed in annoyance.

“Photographic memory,” Rick snapped. “The point is, they don’t want to deal with anything that complex. Much easier to remember that every sixth hallway is a portal to another and shit like that.”

“Then why’d it take you so long to get us out of there?” Morty muttered under his breath.

“Excuse me, Morty? Y-y-you’re not _pleased_ with my performance level? I didn’t see you helping out. Didn’t see you doing much of anything other than whining like a little bitch and slowing us down. The reason it took a while is because that thing was gargantuan! Th-the bigger the puzzle box, the longer it takes to figure out the algorithm, which I _did_ eventually because I’m a fucking genius. I think the words you’re searching for are ‘thank you.’” 

“Mmm.” Morty shifted around, trying to find a comfortable position. He kept almost falling asleep, his neck drooping until his chin met his chest, the impact jolting him awake every time. 

“H-how about we go get a room somewhere? You can take a shower and get some sleep without your family up our asses, trying to best each other in a contest of ‘who can be the biggest waste of a cerebral cortex.’” Rick’s voice was a bit softer now, and although Morty’s eyes were closed, he could feel Rick’s gaze, could picture the mixture of reluctance and concern that always danced across his steely eyes when he accidentally slipped and fell into a puddle of kindness. 

Morty hated to admit it, but he got a sick satisfaction out of hearing Rick demean the whole family. It probably meant there was something fundamentally wrong with Morty, a sociopathic instinct he’d do well to shun, but still… it was always thrilling to hear Rick preferred him over everybody else.

“Yeah… s-sounds good, Rick.” Morty smiled as he thought about bathing his numb legs in the warm, massaging jets of a long shower.

***

“We only have rooms with one bed, but they’re double Korblockian size! Should be plenty of room,” the alien at the front desk said, wearing the particular kind of nervous smile people have when they’re preparing themselves for a tantrum from an entitled customer.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” The alien’s features faded into relief as Rick waved his hand and gave the man a strange, oval-shaped card with raised bumps running down the middle. Rick always seemed to have every kind of currency on hand, buried in the infinite pockets of his lab coat.

“Wh-what??? Rick, come on… let’s just go somewhere else.” Morty rubbed the back of his neck and tugged at Rick’s sleeve. He was starting to sweat again, and this time it had nothing to do with his mortality and everything to do with the idea of sleeping next to Rick. Rick was… boundary-less, and that was about the most charitable way Morty could put it. Whether he was passing out drunk in Morty’s bed or cramming them both into hiding spots that made for an inconvenient collision of uh… certain body parts, Rick had no problem invading Morty’s space whenever he saw fit. Right now, Morty was in no mood to endure that torture. He wanted to be _comfortable._ He was old enough to have his own goddamn bed. He wasn’t a five year old crawling in bed with his parents after a nightmare. 

“Don’t get all no homo on me, Morty. Do you leave a seat between you and your bros at the movies too? Oh that’s right, you don’t _have_ any friends.” 

_Yeah, because you won’t let me,_ Morty thought bitterly, his small hands balling into fists.

“I-it’s weird, Rick! I’m way past the age where this shit is acceptable!”

“Uh, should I—” The blue-green creature behind the counter tried to interject, but Rick held up his finger to indicate that he needed a minute.

“Wh-what are you afraid of, Morty? The capitalist drone shitstains you go to school with aren’t here to put it on Instagram. And if you think I’m paying for an extra room just because you’re a spoiled brat, you got another thing coming, Morty.” Rick jabbed his finger into Morty’s sternum, his other hand resting on his cocked hip.

“Fine,” Morty sighed, running his hand down his face. “Let’s just get the room key. I’m so fucking tired.” 

The room was actually really nice, spacious and clean with a bed big enough for four people. It was surprising that stingy Rick had shelled out the money for it, but maybe his desire for comfort outweighed his tendency to blatantly disregard Morty’s needs.

Miracle of miracles, Rick let Morty use the shower first. After he walked out of the steam-filled bathroom, a towel around his hips, Morty dove under the covers, moaning with relief as the cool, fresh sheets enveloped his clean skin. He was asleep before he had time to worry about Rick sliding in next to him.

***

Morty began to wake up, letting out a groggy little groan and blinking slowly as the room came into focus and— 

Oh fuck.

What was— 

Morty was on his side, and Rick’s body was molded to his, his chest flush against Morty’s back, his arm wrapped around Morty’s waist. Honestly, he was clinging to Morty like his life depended on it, his chin resting on Morty’s shoulder, his unruly hair tickling Morty’s cheek. It was a firm, inescapable hold that made Morty’s pulse so erratic, he briefly wondered if he was having an actual heart attack.

As he debated what to do next, he remained perfectly still, listening to Rick’s soft breathing, no other sound in the room except the mechanical whirring of the air conditioner. Rick was definitely still asleep.

Right?

Of course he was. 

It’s not like he’d ever do this while he was awake and aware. The only time Rick ever got _this_ affectionate was when he was too drunk to remember it the next day. He touched Morty a lot, but it was all incidental little touches, the shoulder pats and arm slaps of male camaraderie that Morty knew well from being an anxious high schooler in the locker room, hunching over to hide his own body as he changed clothes. 

_But you were worried about this. If he doesn’t do that, why were you worried about this?_

Morty frowned, the answer floating in the air like a runaway petal blowing in the breeze, too fast and small for him to catch it.

Rick made a rumbling noise in the back of his throat, and Morty’s stomach tightened up, bracing himself for the inevitable stuttering insult. Even though Morty had been asleep, blissfully unaware and blameless as Rick’s skinny arms found their way around him, he was sure Rick would find a way to make this his fault. He’d bolt upright, realize what was happening, and launch into a string of verbal beatings. By the end of it, Morty would have somehow convinced himself that Rick was right. The whip-crack of Rick’s words was designed with precision. It fell across Morty’s conscience in just the right way, leaving lacerations of guilt that were hard to shake. 

He waited, but Rick didn’t wake up. Instead, he only held Morty tighter, his leg slinging over Morty’s hip and pulling him impossibly closer. Morty whined helplessly and went over his options. 

1) He could just get up. Gently extricate himself from this tangle of limbs and pray to god that Rick didn’t wake up in the process.

2) He could actually try to rouse Rick and hope that it wouldn’t result in an argument.

3) He could just stay like this. When Rick finally started to get up naturally, Morty could feign sleep to avoid the entire messy confrontation because, let’s face it, options number one and two would definitely result in the Wrath of Rick, one way or another.

Resigned to his odd cuddling fate, Morty took a deep breath and tried to relax. How long could Rick sleep anyway? Morty didn’t know what time it was, but judging from how rested he felt, he guessed at least an hour or two had passed. Rick was a light sleeper. He was too stuffed to the gills with manic energy and alcohol to have long-lasting, restorative sleep. He was always tinkering in the garage in the wee hours of the morning or pulling a resistant Morty out of bed for an adventure before the sun had even risen. He wouldn’t be out for much longer.

After a few minutes, Morty’s heartbeat slowed down, and the tension ebbed out of his muscles. He was actually pretty comfortable? The temperature of the room was perfect, the blanket was fluffy and warm but not too hot, and Rick was… a really lovely snuggler. Morty had never looked at Rick’s slender body, all sharp angles and sinewy muscle, and thought he’d make a nice living teddy bear, but there was something incredibly tranquil and grounding about his embrace. He was quite a bit taller and bigger than Morty; the way he covered Morty completely made him feel small and protected. Rick could reach all the way around Morty’s waist with just one arm. He routinely picked Morty up and moved him around as though he were no heavier than a bag of feathers. Usually it was in the context of some death-defying adventure, a swift and rough movement that amounted more to manhandling than tenderness.

But now? This? This was the exact definition of tender, a rarity in the world of Rick Sanchez. Morty bit his lip and raised a cautious, shaky hand. It hovered above Rick’s own, his palm spread wide across Morty’s small stomach. Finally, he placed his own hand over the back of Rick’s, holding his breath as he waited for Rick to move.

Rick didn’t.

Morty let out a long exhale and smiled as he nestled into Rick’s hold, letting himself enjoy the sensation of Rick’s body against his, the thin skin of his hand under Morty’s fingers. It was cozy; he could easily be lulled back to sleep like this. 

He didn’t really want to sleep though. He wasn’t tired anymore, and besides, he didn’t want to waste the opportunity to bask in this before it was over. Who knew how much time he had before Rick woke up? He’d never been this close to Rick for this long, and he was surprised to find how much he liked it. Could they get away with snuggling like this on the couch at home, Morty leaning against Rick’s chest as the TV droned softly in the background? 

Rick was so sweet and docile like this.

He was unguarded.

Vulnerable. 

A tendril of something dark and astonishing wriggled its way across Morty’s thoughts, twisting and unfurling against his will. Morty shook his head as if to banish the idea, but it only grew bolder and more definitive, blinking across his mind like a sinister spotlight pointing to all the parts of himself he didn’t want to acknowledge. 

_You could touch him. He wouldn’t know._

Before that train of thought could consume him, driving him down into a well whose depth was so vast, he couldn’t see to the bottom, Rick shifted behind him. 

Morty closed his eyes and tried to keep his breath steady, desperate to avoid Rick’s scrutiny. There was a shuffle of sheets as Rick pulled back a little. Cool air rushed in to fill the new space between them. 

“Morty?” Rick croaked, his voice gravelly with sleep. Morty stayed frozen, funneling all his concentration into mimicking the deep, rhythmic breathing of the unconscious. 

For a moment, nothing changed, and Morty didn’t know what to make of it. Why wasn’t Rick panicking? Why wasn’t he muttering about what the fuck had just happened? Why didn’t he care?

“Morty?” Rick tried again, gently shaking Morty’s shoulder. 

Morty debated whether or not to speak up, but some meddlesome voice inside him, that wily, curious worm from earlier, told him to _wait._

_Let’s just see what happens._

When a strong arm wrapped around him once again, Morty couldn’t contain his gasp. 

Rick didn’t show any signs that he heard it.

Maybe he hadn’t.

Or maybe, like Morty, he was just pretending.

So many parts of their relationship revolved around silent (and not so silent) agreements, pacts to ignore what was uncomfortable in order to continue doing it without the messy business of examining the whys and hows. Some things were easier to enjoy if you didn’t talk about it. That was one part of Rick’s obstinate philosophy that Morty wholeheartedly agreed with. 

_Don’t think about it._

It was a simple phrase, but at the core, it was a profound thing that said it all.

Morty hummed contentedly and just let himself be held against Rick’s chest.

  
  


***

It was another week before anything happened.

Morty spent seven long days trying to drum up reasons to get himself in bed with Rick, but nothing was plausible enough. He wasn’t clever like Rick. He didn’t possess the manipulative instincts that allowed Rick to talk his way to gratification, lies spilling out smooth and sweet as drizzled honey.

At the end of each adventure, Morty would spend the ride home opening and closing his mouth as he tried to work up the courage to speak. It was absurd how jittery and tongue-tied he was. It was like being in the halls of high school, trying to remember how the English language worked as he looked up into Jessica’s radiant eyes. It wasn’t very subtle, and eventually, Rick, true to form, would get petulant and snap at him.

_“Are y-y-you constipated or something, Morty? What’s with that face you’re making? You look like you’re trying to push out a turd the size of a grapefruit.”_

This would only make Morty angry and more self-conscious, stuttering a string of curses until Rick left him alone.

Every night, Morty would lie in bed, the sheets like searing hot coals against his skin, every swish of fabric a painful reminder of how wound up he was, his dick red and leaking between his legs. 

But he didn’t touch it. 

The risk was too great. What if his thoughts wandered to places too unseemly to forget? Morty was no stranger to the ugly phenomenon of “come regret.” He was an insatiably horny, curious teenager with unlimited access to the internet. It was easy to go down a rabbithole of clicks late at night, filling an incognito browser with choices that seemed reasonable to his hormonal, id-driven brain but shamefully taboo to his “sober” (Morty figured the incessant drive to come, relentlessly beating against his brain like hail on a fucking window, was just as much a drug as anything else) brain. Once you set the horny beast free, you had little control over what gritty places your imagination visited.

So he ignored the urge, letting the simmer escalate to a boil. It was an unsettling, empty kind of state to languish in. Sometimes it made him feel like crying, and he couldn’t imagine how much worse it would be if those regrets were about…

No, he wasn’t going to go there.

_But aren’t you kind of going there??? By trying to get in bed with him again???_

Morty shoved that voice down, stacking piles of meaningless bullshit on top of it, hoping it’d be buried in his mental trash heap for good.

By the time the opportunity finally raised its head, enticing like a deceptively cute animal who, given the chance, would sink its teeth into your neck, Morty was in a daze, quietly following Rick to the room with a kind of numb calm. Was he in shock? He didn’t know what the hell was going on. At least he wasn’t currently being swallowed by a cyclone of his own anxiety. Small mercies. 

“Wh-what the fuck is your problem? Don’t tell me you’re pouting again because Princess Morty didn’t get a private room with his own king size bed and a fucking h-harem of hookers who look like that dumb little redhead you’re always drooling over. You’re lucky you get this at all, Morty. I’m doing you a favor here, Morty. Giving you a comfortable place to recuperate unbothered by your nosy bitch of a sister and your bored ass unemployed Neanderthal of a father.”

“Y-yeah, I know, Rick. Thank you.” Morty stripped down to his boxers and slipped under the covers, quickly turning on his side and facing the wall, huddled up to the edge so Rick would have no choice but to lie down behind him.

Morty’s apology seemed to stun Rick into silence. Morty didn’t turn around, but he felt the bed dip under Rick’s weight. 

Morty’s stomach went taut as he waited for Rick to come closer, but it didn’t happen. Even though he couldn’t see it, Morty could feel every inch of separation like it was miles and miles of vast, uncharted ocean. Trying to close the gap was impossible. A week ago, moving closer to Rick wouldn’t have felt like a super significant thing, but now it was just too loaded. His mind was running wild with all the catastrophic possibilities, the terrible humiliation he’d feel if Rick called him out on it.

Morty was cold, and he briefly wondered if he could use that as an excuse. Rick began to snore faintly, and Morty let out a pent-up breath, the coiled spring of his body untwisting, his shoulders rolling back. It wasn’t like Rick to fall asleep so quickly unless he’d been binge-drinking himself comatose, but Morty didn’t question his luck. When you were as chronically hapless as he was, it was best to never look a gift horse in the mouth. Swiveling his head slowly, afraid any movement too jarring would burst Rick out of his unconscious bubble, Morty hazarded a glance over his shoulder. 

Rick looked surprisingly peaceful. Anytime Morty saw Rick asleep, it was less Sleeping Beauty and more “drooling, passed out drunk snoring louder than a symphony of chainsaws,” but right now he looked… untroubled. As much as Rick acted like Morty was the one who over-thought everything, yelling at him to chill out and let the chaos of the universe wash over him, Morty thought Rick was the tensest person he knew. He was prone to bouts of anger and depression, his mercurial moods pivoting on a dime. It made Morty’s head spin. Rick usually had to get pretty fucked up to look as placid as he was right now, and even then, an intoxicated Rick was far from a guarantee of repose. Drunk happiness was a false kind of elation, a precarious smokescreen that dissolved with the slightest change in the atmosphere, swinging into darkness without warning. It was a lie Rick told himself. A manufactured thing balanced on the tip of a knife. 

Seeing the half smile on Rick’s face, the even rise and fall of his chest, his hair fanned out on the pillow, made Morty’s heart swell. It made him want to reach out and touch him, to brush up against the edge of that serenity, like feeling it underneath his fingers would make it more real. Morty rolled onto his back and watched Rick for a while, raising and lowering his hand a few times as he thought better of it. 

Eventually, Morty grunted and rolled back onto his side, facing away from Rick. He marginally shrank the space between them, but they still weren’t touching. 

Although Morty didn’t dare make the first move, there was a deep ache in the pit of his stomach, a pure and genuine kind of longing, like the first time he’d ever wanted something so bad as a kid, he’d cried and hugged his pillow all night. What the fuck was happening to him? It clearly wasn’t healthy.

“Mmm.” The blankets fluttered as Rick shuffled around. 

Morty squeezed his eyes shut, wishing for Rick to move closer, his head empty of all thoughts except the warm body behind him and— 

It happened. 

Again.

Rick slung an arm around Morty’s waist, molding his limbs around him just like he had the last time they slept together. This time, Morty didn’t hesitate to settle into it, sighing gleefully when Rick’s chin slotted into that spot between his neck and shoulder. The way their bodies locked together was so satisfying, like every curve and bend of Rick’s was designed to nestle inside the dips and notches of Morty’s. 

Rick mumbled nonsensically in his sleep, fidgeting around and folding his leg over Morty’s hip. He did it so naturally. Was there someone Rick used to sleep with like this? A former lover he’d cuddle with night after night? Diane? Unity? Someone Morty didn’t know about? When Rick was drunk, tidbits of his backstory spilled out, unbidden and messy like the flecks of spittle that dotted his chin. Still, it was never enough to paint a complete picture. Figures were shadowy, faces smudged as though the edge of a hand had swiped through the paint before it dried. 

As Rick moved, his calf rubbed against Morty’s thigh, his arm tightening around Morty’s midsection. Every point of contact sent electric charges through Morty’s entire body. The dial on his sensitivity had been turned up to unbearable levels. A telltale throb began in his groin, and he groaned, clamping a hand over his mouth. It was like that sometimes; Morty swore he could get an erection from the wind gliding across his skin, stirring the fine hairs on his forearms. 

As he marinated in an uncomfortable mixture of disgust and lust, he reminded himself of that. It wasn’t his _fault_ that all the blood was running to his cock. It had nothing to do with Rick and everything to do with the way their bodies were linked right now. After all, Morty had never been this close to another person. Half-dressed and lying in bed with Rick was arguably the most sexual—er, sexual-ish—contact he’d had.

_Ugh, don’t think about that. That just makes it fucking worse. The most action you’ve gotten is napping with your grandfather? Pathetic._

Morty lifted the covers, biting his bottom lip as he stared down at the erection that was now tenting his boxers. He had to get out of there right now. Screw the consequences of waking Rick up. It would be worse to lie here and risk Rick finding out about this. He’d just get up and go to the bathroom, rub one out real quick, and get back in bed. No harm, no foul.

He tried to pull away, figuring he’d shoot out of Rick’s arms like a pebble in a slingshot, too quick and violent for Rick to do anything other than ramble at Morty’s retreating back. He’d be in the bathroom before Rick could even get a proper sentence out. 

No such luck. 

Rick’s grip was vise-tight. Morty swore in the half-darkness of the hotel room, the thick curtains blocking out the fading light of early evening. He should have known better. Apparently, an unconscious Rick was still an infuriatingly strong cybernetic asshole.

As Rick’s hold tightened, Morty’s ass collided with Rick’s crotch. Morty’s dick twitched. The rush of arousal was instant, like refreshing ice water on the hottest day, the way you can feel it spreading down your throat, almost like it's in your veins, cooling you from the inside out. 

It felt so good, and Morty wanted more, his hips thrusting on their own, acting on pure instinct without his permission, humping the air in front of him and grinding against the warm body behind him.

Morty made little whimpers as he used Rick’s body, fully aware that he should stop, but a wicked voice whispered that this was his right. Rick had used him in almost every conceivable way. He’d violated Morty’s consent like it was nothing, just a forgettable, everyday task that was necessary to give Rick what he wanted. Even if Morty spent the next ten years getting the better of Rick, he wouldn’t come close to evening the score. Only a lifetime of deception would hold a candle to the abundance of shit Rick had gotten away with.

_That’s not you._

Morty stopped, a stab of guilt sharp as a needle scrawling across his heart. It pierced the fog of lust for a moment, but his cock was still aching and insistent against his belly. Morty had never been very good at resisting it. Over the years, he’d ducked into public bathrooms and empty classrooms for more than a few shameful wanks.

Morty paused to listen to Rick’s sleepy murmurs. When he was sure Rick wasn’t about to open his eyes and see Morty in all his perverted glory, he slipped his hand down his chest, wetting his lips as he slid teasing fingers over his nipples and stomach before finally grasping his cock, solid and hot in his hand. He knew he needed to be quiet, but he couldn’t help but moan as he started to stroke himself in tight, hurried circles, trying to come as fast as possible. There was still lingering revulsion about the whole situation, but Morty was embarrassed to find that it only made it more exciting. There were so many delicious forbidden fruits rolled into one: the possibility of getting caught, the fact that his grandfather was pressed up against him, the way the friction of Rick’s body made Morty greedy for more. Even though he was trying to keep his movements small and inconspicuous, his feverish strokes were lightly lifting the covers up and down, his balls bouncing against the edge of his hand on the downstroke, his ass wiggling against Rick. 

“Fuck,” Morty exhaled, his hand halting as he felt the unmistakable poke of Rick’s erection. It was lined up perfectly with the crease of his ass. He made an experimental buck backward and had to bite down on his hand to stifle another gasp. 

It was all too much. 

He’d never felt another person’s dick rub against him, let alone _there._ It was impossible not to think about how it would feel sliding between his slickened cheeks, nudging at his hole, prying him open, fucking in and out, hitting that spot Morty’d only ever reached with a toy. 

He’d seen Rick’s cock enough times to picture it vividly. Rick was big and uncut and sort of obnoxiously boastful about it. He had no qualms about literally swinging his dick around, especially in front of Morty. Sometimes Morty wondered if Rick wanted him to see it, wanted to incite something like what was happening right now, but it was hard to tell. Often, Rick was just indulging in the excitement of putting other people in uncomfortable situations, cataloguing their reactions with scientific detail and a mocking cruelty that made Morty’s blood boil. People were mere playthings to Rick, and he loved to sadistically wind them up and watch them go, orchestrating calamitous situations all for the sake of a good laugh.

It was hard to imagine Rick having any _sincere_ lust toward Morty.

_You’re his grandson. He’d be disgusted with you right now. If he finds out, he’ll never want to be around you again._

Morty’s thoughts continued this inescapable loop of self-flagellation, but still, he didn’t stop. His hand sped up on his cock, and he kept grinding back against Rick’s dick, his mind assaulted with rapid-fire images of all the ways Rick could use it on him: pushing past Morty’s lips and into his throat, sliding in and out until Morty’s mouth was so full, he was gagging, spit leaking out of the corners of his mouth. 

_Stop stop stop. Think about Jessica. Think about literally anything else._

Would Rick praise him while he plundered Morty’s mouth like he owned it, like it was made only for this? Tell him what a good little boy he was, taking his grandpa’s cock all the way to the hilt, letting him come down his throat? 

_Why do you like this why do you like this what’s wrong with you why can’t you—_

Or maybe he’d bend Morty over the bed, his long fingers bruising Morty’s hips as he held him in place and took what he wanted, filling Morty with his cock until he was sobbing, begging for— 

“Moorrttyy.”

Morty ceased everything immediately, praying that he’d stopped fast enough to avoid detection. His ragged breaths were coming out short and shallow, and his pulse beat like timpani in his ears as he waited for the inevitable disaster but… nothing happened. 

Rick’s palm, broad and flat across his stomach, splayed out so large, it made Morty feel even smaller, rubbed back and forth, the most delicate whisper of a touch. Was Rick awake? Awake and okay with this?

“R-Rick? Are you awake?”

“Mmm,” Rick mumbled before mouthing at Morty’s neck. It was soft and wet and warm, not quite a kiss but not quite a bite either, the barest hint of tongue and teeth dancing across his skin. It conjured goosebumps all along Morty’s arms and legs. He swore he could feel every hair stand at attention, like his senses had been slapped awake, everything he’d thought was intense only moments before paling in comparison to Rick’s lips on his neck. 

Morty made a tentative thrust back, blushing when Rick moaned, the sound reverberating through him, Rick’s mouth still latched onto his neck. 

“Rick,” Morty gasped and reached down for his cock, starting to pump the shaft again, finding a rhythm as he fucked up into his fist and back onto Rick’s erection. “Fuck… I want you inside me.”

Morty was pretty sure Rick was still out of it, but he grabbed at Morty’s stomach like the idea excited him, his fingers sliding down until they were a whisper away from Morty’s dick. Morty’s hand started bumping against Rick’s fingers with every stroke.

He was _so close._ Everything was building, building to that irresistible peak, his balls drawn up high and tight, the pleasure rising like there was no end to it, no ceiling he’d reach only to come crashing down.

Morty cried out as he came all over his hand, his legs shaking as his cock spasmed, Rick’s hard dick still resting on his ass, his open mouth lazily nibbling on Morty’s neck. Morty looked down to see sticky spunk painting his stomach, a few drops on his boxers, and— 

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.”

Some of it had landed on Rick’s fingers. As Morty came down from his orgasm, all the happy chemicals swirled away like water down a drain, leaving him face to face with the painful reality of what he’d just done.

_You jerked off next to Rick. You came on him. You’re trapped in this fucking bed sitting in your own jizz, and that’s what you deserve, you stupid little garbage person._

Morty squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, trying to shake the self-loathing away, praying everything would dissolve and leave a completely different picture in its place, but everything was the same. Grim and gross and impossible to escape.

What could he do now? He couldn’t just lie here like nothing had happened. After all, the… _evidence_ was striping Rick’s hand. Well, if Rick had slept through all of this, he probably wouldn’t notice Morty wiping him off, right? 

Morty took a deep breath and raised his clean hand, carefully swiping his fingers through the mess, but there was still a thin sheen he couldn’t quite get rid of. 

_Lick his fingers._

Apparently, Morty’s lizard brain was still alive and kicking even after he’d come all over his grandpa’s hand. Morty lowered his head and brought Rick’s long fingers to his mouth, licking the space between and rolling his tongue along the length until he was sure he’d gotten it all, the faint taste of his own come lingering on his tongue. It felt so good to have a part of Rick inside him; he couldn’t resist sucking a little bit, pretending it was Rick’s cock he was swirling his tongue around, pushing Rick’s fingers deep inside until they probed at the back of his throat.

Rick jerked back, and Morty let his fingers fall out of his mouth, his hand dropping away from Rick’s wrist. Morty’s mouth hung open in a silent scream.

_Oh shit oh shit you fucking stupid asshole. Look what you did._

Morty paused, but once again, nothing happened. Rick settled onto his back with a grunt, giving no indication that he’d woken up or noticed anything. Morty was starting to second guess his policy on not questioning his luck. Things going his way _this_ many times in a row aroused a suspicion he was pretty sure he needed to pay attention to. 

But that would have to wait for another day. Now he needed to act fast. No more tempting fate. 

Not sparing even one glance backward, Morty leapt out of bed and jogged to the bathroom, jumping in the shower and washing away the vile evidence of what a twisted monster he was.

***

Morty tried to forget what he’d done, which was a little difficult since he kept jerking off to the memory of it. It wasn’t like he didn’t _try_ to think of something else, but after a listless hour of scrolling through Pornhub clips and feeling nothing but unfocused disappointment, he always found his way back to that night. 

At first, he’d close his eyes and let the memory play like a short film, relieving it detail by detail. Usually, he’d come in less than a few minutes. The memory was so powerful he just couldn’t make it last. After the first few times, he built on the fantasy, imagining what Rick would do if he woke up. How he’d degrade Morty for being a disgusting pervert. How he’d make Morty suck his cock and tell him what a dirty whore he was. He conjured every filthy possibility: riding Rick’s dick with his hands bound behind his back, getting fucked on his stomach with his wrists tied to the headboard, lying over Rick’s lap while he shoved his fingers inside his ass, ignoring Morty’s pleas as he begged to come. 

He avoided Rick, doling out bullshit excuses, rambling on about completely fabricated illnesses and fatigue. Normally, bull-headed Rick would have barrelled right through those. He never gave a shit if Morty wasn’t feeling up to going on an adventure. Rick normally only cared about getting exactly what he wanted when he wanted it, but this time, he actually backed off.

Morty didn’t know what was responsible for the change of heart, but he didn’t have much brain space left to worry about it. Whatever was going on with Rick was coinciding with Morty’s need to avoid him, and that was the best blessing he could ask for.

As per usual, Morty had barely adjusted to this unexpected reprieve, finally able to relax without nervously wringing his hands in anticipation of Rick’s next demanding whim, before it was gone. 

“M-Morty, I need your help.” Rick stumbled into Morty’s room, getting tangled in a pile of dirty clothes and flopping onto Morty’s bed. There was alcohol on his breath, the acrid smell rapidly filling the room. The odor was like shoe polish mixed with antiseptic. Morty blinked and rubbed his bleary eyes. Judging from the dim pre-dawn light outside, he figured it was probably four or five in the morning. “Sorghumulon, Morty. It’s such a sticky planet, Morty. Walking around is l-l-like those dreams where you try to run, but you’re stuck in viscous fluid, thick as molasses. Pulling you under, Morty. It’s _hard_ for an old man like me to stand that for too long, Morty. I need someone with the stamina of a young dumb ass.”

“D-don’t you have like… cybernetic armor and shit under your skin, Rick? Or can’t you build special boots that—” 

“There’s no time, Morty!” Rick surged forward and gripped Morty’s upper arms, his long fingers digging in too hard. “I-i-it could all be gone before then! It’s scheduled for demolition by the Federation because there’s no one there anymore. Everyone left that garbage syrup planet like five Earth years ago! Get me some of that-that golden syrup, Morty. It’s made by a special breed of insect that’s kind of like our bumblebee, but its honey has psychokinetic properties. Anyone who d-d-drinks it has temporary abilities. We could make millions off this, Morty! Th-think about all the stuff a lazy shit like you could do if you could suddenly move things with your mind!”

_I’m the lazy shit? You literally want me to be your errand boy because you’re too fucking lazy to do it yourself._

“Come on, Morty! W-w-we gotta harvest as much as we can before they blow up that goldmine!” As usual, personal space was a foreign concept to Rick. He hovered over Morty, their faces a mere inch or two apart, so close Morty could see the flecks of green in his blue eyes. When they weren’t glinting with menace while Rick was being a bullying shithead, they were actually really pretty.

“Ugh, fine.” Morty shoved Rick away, ignoring the twitch of pleasure that radiated from his hand pushing against Rick’s chest, and threw the covers off. As he pulled his jeans on, his back turned to Rick, his cheeks flushed at the mere thought of Rick watching him.

_Jesus, stop being so fucking weird._

When he was dressed, Rick pulled him back by the shoulder, not giving him enough time to wake the fuck up before they were suddenly on a goopy planet, the ground sinking beneath Morty’s feet. Walking around was like being immersed in knee-deep slime; it clung to Morty’s clothes and soaked them through, weighing him down until his legs felt like lead balloons. He was exhausted after only a couple of minutes of trudging through the sticky thickness, but Rick, the aggravating asshole, had stayed at the spot where they came through the portal, sending Morty off with a pat on the back and a map with a red dot blinking across his phone screen.

As Morty climbed the syrupy bark of a tree, struggling to gain any traction and get a solid grip on the dripping branches, he let out a frustrated yell. He was sort of glad Rick wasn’t there. Sometimes it helped to just scream into the fucking void. Finally, he hooked a hand around the strange looking hive (it was octagonal and covered in little fuzzy protrusions that reminded Morty of caterpillars), but he lost his hold on the tree branch, landing on the wet ground with a gross smacking sound.

Morty tried to run back in Rick’s direction, but running was basically impossible. He was essentially trying to wade through a giant pool of oozing syrup, only succeeding in treading sugary water. 

Finally, he saw the ship in the distance, figuring Rick must have portaled back home and gotten it. With a labored, sputtering inhale, Morty gave one final push, hoping to find some residual energy. It was still slow-going, but he managed to cut his time down by taking a wide, leaping stride until he landed against the ship with a thud.

“Wh-what the fuck, Morty? Y-y-you’re getting syrup all over the ship!” 

Morty looked up to see Rick yawning and moving his seat from the reclining position as he lowered the ship’s windshield.

“Are… you… fucking… serious?!” Morty gasped as he caught his breath, one arm still leaning against the ship. “I’m fucking exhausted, Rick! Y-you’ve been napping while I almost got sucked into the ground and suffocated by whatever this shit is!”

“I-i-it comes from the planet’s core. It oozes out of the holes in the ground, like-like oil spilling out of your acne ridden teenage pores. You’re basically covered in the planet’s jizz, Morty.” 

“What… in the actual fuck, Rick?! That-that’s nasty! I hate you! I just want to get a good night’s sleep without a demented Machiavellian alcoholic pulling me out of bed for some bullshit that could’ve waited until morning! And I don’t have acne!” Morty crossed his arms and glared, but it only made Rick roll his eyes. “T-take me home! Right now!”

“Jesus, Morty, calm your cute little tits. L-l-let’s get you out of those clothes and showered, okay? I’ll get us a room.”

Morty wanted to protest just to piss Rick off, but he was tempted by the prospect of being in bed with him again. It had been nearly two weeks. Who knew when he’d get another chance?

“Yeah…” Morty nodded, even that small motion exacerbating his fatigue tenfold, and climbed into the ship.

By the time he finished showering in the hotel room, he was too exhausted to be titillated by Rick lying under the covers, fully clothed but already fast asleep. All he could do was plop down on the mattress, his head buried in the pillow, towel sliding off his naked body and falling to the floor.

  
  


***

One time was an accident.

Two times was a coincidence. 

But three times? In Morty’s mind, three times equalled intent. Maybe it was a subconscious thing, something Rick didn’t allow himself to entertain when he was awake, but that was still real, right? If anything, the desires that lurked in the sealed, secret parts of our minds, the kind whose locked doors only slipped open when we were too vulnerable to do anything about it, were realer than anything else.

It certainly felt that way for Morty. 

Rick was still fully clothed, his lab coat sleeve reaching to the top of his bony wrist. A wrist that was attached to an arm that had once again wound around Morty’s waist like it belonged there. 

“You don’t fucking own me, okay?” Morty hissed down at his own hard dick. There was a small puddle of precome forming on his belly. It was dangerously close to Rick’s hand. Rick shifted in his sleep, and Morty felt that sizable bulge rub against his ass. 

God, it’d been too long. Even just that second of friction was better than anything Morty had felt as he furiously fisted his cock over the last few days. 

Maybe he’d be better this time. He could just… not rut against Rick? And not touch him. Just touch his own swollen cock and let the heat of Rick’s form pressed against him be enough. Sure. He could do that. He wasn’t a fucking animal. He had self control.

As he started pumping his hand up and down, Morty bit back a moan, his stomach going tense from the effort to stop his hips from rocking back and forth. Rick’s hand moved, his fingertips skating across Morty’s ribs, and Morty was grateful Rick couldn’t hear the embarrassing whine that tumbled out of his mouth. 

“R-Rick,” Morty whispered, giving up any hope of restraint and jutting his ass against Rick over and over, chasing his orgasm as he felt Rick’s breath ghosting on the back of his neck, Rick’s slender fingers curling around his side— 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Morty?”

Morty dropped his dick like it was hot enough to give him a third degree burn. He tried to speak, but his heart was lodged in his parched throat. He was choking on air. 

Rick’s growl was unmistakable. He was _definitely_ awake. 

Morty tried to move, but he couldn’t remember how. Was it possible to truly paralyze yourself with terror? If phantom limb syndrome was a thing, this probably was too, right?

“What’s the matter, Morty? You get caught rubbing your ass against your grandpa like a desperate little whore, and you have _nothing_ to say?”

Morty made a strangled noise that was somewhere between a squeak and a moan. Rick laughed, a bitter, humorless sound that had Morty shrinking into himself, but, to Morty’s surprise, Rick licked a long, hot stripe up his neck. 

Morty leaned into it, his eyelids fluttering closed, but Rick pulled away, the imprint of his hand leaving warm tingles on Morty’s stomach. 

“Sit at the foot of the bed and face me.”

“Rick—”

“You don’t get to speak, Morty. Not unless I ask you a fucking question. Go. _Now.”_

Morty nodded and crawled down to the end of the bed, sitting on his heels and keeping his eyes glued to the bedspread.

“Look at me, Morty.”

Pins and needles erupted on Morty’s perspiring skin as he slowly looked up to meet Rick’s icy gaze. Morty was dizzy. Every time he inhaled, it was like trying to breathe through a punctured lung, a futile wheeze, everything falling out instead of sucking in. Being with Rick sort of always felt like that. By the time you’d steadied yourself from the last venture into insanity, you were hurtling over the next cliff, mouth gulping at hollow air, arms uselessly pinwheeling as they scrambled for purchase in the abyss.

“Touch yourself.”

“Wh-what? You can’t be serious, Rick. I—I don’t want to. I can’t.”

Rick sat with his back against the wall, one leg crossed over the other, wearing that villainous smile Morty hated and loved so much. It was the smuggest smile in the whole goddamn universe.

“You sure, Morty? Y-y-you seemed plenty fucking turned on a minute ago, rubbing against me while I couldn’t do a goddamn thing about it. Is that why you won’t jerk off now? C-c-can’t get off unless you’re using my sleeping body like your personal dildo?”

“No! That’s not—I’m sorry, Rick. I’m sick. I’m a piece of shit. I shouldn’t have—” 

“A little late for that, Morty,” Rick hissed. “Y-y-you’re a shameless slut who tried to get off on my cock grinding against your ass, your _grandfather’s_ cock, Morty. You shouldn’t be ashamed to give me a little show. Or maybe you want me to tell our whole family about your little Sleeping Beauty fetish?”

“No! Please, Rick. I’ll—okay, I-I’ll do it.” Morty closed his eyes and gave his cock a timid tug. He was mortified to find that he was still hard. Apparently, getting caught didn’t dampen his arousal one bit. 

“Open your fucking eyes, Morty. You fucked around with me while I was passed out. You can at least look me in the eye right now.”

When Morty opened his eyes, Rick’s gaze was still stern, his lips drawn into a tight line, but he was panting in a way that made Morty wonder if there was desire underneath all the rage.

“God, you are so pretty and small and pink, Morty. Look at you. You’re blushing with your whole fucking body.” Well… there was Morty’s answer. Rick licked his lips and spread his legs enough to give Morty a good view of the erection straining against the fabric of his pants.

“You—you think I’m—”

“I don’t remember asking you a question, Morty. Shut the fuck up and keep stroking your little cock for Grandpa.”

“Ooohhh.” Morty’s cock jumped in his hand, a few pearly drops coating the head.

“Y-y-you like that, don’t you, you perverted little fuck? Like being reminded it’s your grandpa watching you fuck your fist?”

“Yes, god, Rick, I—I want to see you.” There was something undeniably hot about a clothed Rick watching him jerk off naked, a quiet little assertion of dominance that made Morty want him even more, but he still craved the sight of Rick’s body.

To Morty’s surprise, Rick obliged without firing off a round of insults. He shrugged out of his lab coat and shirt, and Morty’s eyes trailed from the jut of his collarbone down to the hint of pubic hair peeking out from under the waistband of his pants. He wanted to cover every inch of Rick with kisses, wanted to lick and suck on everything Rick would allow, but that was the thing. 

He didn’t know if Rick would allow any of it, and he was too scared to find out.

Morty’s eyes kept following their journey downward, whimpering when he saw that tantalizing bulge between Rick’s legs. 

“Not good enough, huh? I’m not surprised. Y-y-you’re such a greedy little slut. Well, I’m not gonna make it easy on you. Use your words, Morty. You’re not a little kid anymore. You know how to ask for what you want.” Rick smirked and palmed his groin, rocking into his hand, his lips parting slightly. God, he was so beautiful. Had he always been this beautiful?

_Yes. You’ve thought that for a long time, Morty. Why are you still lying?_

“Still can’t say it, huh? I-I-I’ll be generous and help you out a bit. You want to see my dick, Morty?”

Morty nodded vigorously, turning a deeper shade of scarlet when Rick laughed. 

“Of course you do. Tell me.” 

Morty shook his head and chewed on his bottom lip. 

“You little brat… Tell. Me. Or you don’t get to come.” Without warning, Rick lunged forward, closing the distance with the ease of a feared predator. He grabbed Morty’s wrist, making it impossible for him to keep stroking his dick. 

“I w-wanna see your dick. I wanna see it so bad, Rick. I want—I _need_ to touch it. To taste it. I want you to—”

“You want me inside you?” The gleam in Rick’s eyes was dangerously all-knowing. It wasn’t anything new; Rick was fond of effortlessly reading Morty’s mind only to weaponize what he learned. This was just another way to do it. Rick leaned in close, nuzzling his cheek against Morty’s, his tongue darting out to trace the shell of Morty’s ear. Morty shivered and moaned, his hips pushing forward but gaining no ground. Rick’s hand was still steady on his wrist, his other hand in an unyielding grip around Morty’s thigh. “That’s what you said, isn’t it, baby?”

Everything inside Morty quivered and softened, Rick’s words making him feel so warm and wanted— 

_Wait._

“You were… awake the whole time?” Morty didn’t know whether to be furious with Rick for omitting this very important piece of information or more ashamed of himself and what he’d done.

“D-d-didn’t you notice that every adventure was so long and fucking arduous lately? Like I was training you for a goddamn marathon?”

“Are you serious, Rick? You just—what, exhausted me so I’d get a hotel room with you?”

“Wh-when I woke up to you grinding that sweet ass against me, I-I thought about letting you know, but I had to see how long you’d go at it.”

“Fuck you, Rick. I’m not your personal experiment.” Morty pushed at his shoulders, but Rick’s grip was steadfast.

“Don’t act like the victim, Morty. Seems like you enjoyed yourself plenty, d-d-didn’t you?”

Morty didn’t respond, staring at the wall to his right, unable to look into Rick’s maddeningly triumphant gaze.

“That’s right, baby. You can’t deny that shit. C-c-come on, you should be relieved! Now you know I loved it too. You can sleep tight knowing your superfluous sense of morality is intact.” Rick’s tone was dripping with condescension, and Morty ground his teeth together, giving Rick’s shoulder another ineffectual push. 

“D-d-don’t talk to me about morality when you’re psychologically torturing me for fun! I felt terrible, Rick! It scared the shit out of me, how much I liked it…” 

“Oh, you felt soooo terrible? Terrible enough that you did it _again_ the first chance you got? And Jesus, Morty, if you think that’s psychological torture, maybe you should talk to vets who spent time in a fucking POW camp. Look, it’s not my fault you decided to molest your sleeping grandpa. That’s on you. Morality is for people with no imagination who need to grasp at straws to make sense of the universe so they can die feeling like they unlocked a level of superiority. People assign value to achievement based on how many people are underneath them, Morty, how many heads they had to step on to reach the top of the mountain. You want to be a good person? Measure your success against _yourself._ Fuck everyone else’s metrics. You don’t need them. Besides, I fucking like that dark spark in you. You pretend it’s not there, but it’s so much fun when you let her come out to play.”

“Really?” Morty shyly looked up from under his lashes, astonished to see that Rick was looking at him with admiration, like Morty was giving him a rare gift. How long had Rick been waiting for a chance like this?

“Really. I mean, like anything, you should keep it in check. L-l-let’s not forget you shooting the corpses on the purge planet. But _yes,_ I like seeing that little bastard with the poor impulse control you usually try to bury 100 feet deep.” Rick let go of Morty’s wrist and cupped his cheek, running his thumb along Morty’s bottom lip. It felt amazing, but there was still a nagging doubt pulling Morty out of the moment. Rick sighed and tilted Morty’s chin up until they were eye to eye. “You weren’t gonna do anything beyond humping my crotch like a horny monkey in the fucking zoo, okay? I know you. And you wouldn’t have done it to anyone else, either. We have a long-running game of chicken between us, Morty. Th-think about it. How much c-c-crazy shit have we done to each other that you would never dream of doing to anyone else? Don’t worry about escalation, kid. Your conscience is safe. I absolve you.”

Rick closed his eyes, feigning complete seriousness, and made the sign of the cross over Morty’s chest. Morty giggled, finally breathing easy. Falling down Rick’s rationalization rabbithole was a perilous thing, but maybe he was right. Morty’s relationship with Rick adhered to a completely different set of standards than any other one in his life. There was no one like Rick. There never would be. 

“There you go. Now can we move onto the good stuff with-without you being pouty? We’ve got a few hours left. Rather spend it not talking.” Rick swept his hand down Morty’s chest, lightly pinching his nipples, combing his hand through the coarse hair surrounding his cock. “It pisses me off how pretty you are. Want my tongue in that tight ass. W-w-wanna fuck you ’til you’re begging me to make you come. You want that, Morty?”

“Yes—I want—everything, Rick. _Everything.”_

“Let’s start with what you asked for.” Rick shuffled to the edge of the bed and stood up, turning around and watching Morty as he lowered his zipper and let his pants drop to the floor. He gave Morty a moment to take it all in—trust the cocky son of a bitch to think his dick was so magnificent, it needed to be on display like a fucking trophy—before joining Morty back on the bed. Morty gave a surprised yelp as Rick picked him up, situating Morty in his lap. Morty wrapped his legs around Rick’s waist, already grinding down like the needy boy he was. “You want it so bad, don’t you?”

“Y-yeah, I—” Morty’s words were swallowed by Rick’s lips on his, his tongue licking into Morty’s mouth, tasting every corner of it. He felt the kiss in every part of his body. He was drowning in it, and he never wanted it to stop. When Rick pulled back, Morty slung his arms around Rick’s neck and drew him back in, lurching forward to capture his lips again, drunk on the sensation of his cock sliding against Rick’s, their chests pressed together. It was almost like he was afraid of separation, like any space between their skin would put the whole thing in danger, giving Rick a chance to change his mind. 

Morty couldn’t afford to give him that chance.

“Let a man breathe, will ya, Morty?” Rick chuckled as he broke the kiss, smoothing Morty’s hair back from his forehead. There was a melancholy flicker across Rick’s eyes, the kind no one but Morty ever seemed to notice.

“What’s wrong?” Asking was a bit of a minefield. Morty was pretty perceptive about Rick’s innerworkings, and, most of the time, that was something Rick didn’t like to be reminded of. Rick fancied himself mysterious and unsolvable, an enigma floating on a cloud too high for anyone else to reach.

“You’re just… so fucking young and small. I hate how much I love it sometimes.” Rick frowned at a spot below Morty’s clavicle, tracing his fingers across Morty’s ribs. 

“Well, it’d be pretty bad for me if you _didn’t_ love it.” 

“Is that what you think?” Rick gave him an incisive look, the kind that always made Morty feel like he was being strapped to the operating table with no general anesthesia, wide awake as he watched Rick dig into his brain with nimble surgeon’s fingers. 

Morty didn’t know what to say so he didn’t say anything at all. He just kissed Rick’s lovely, long neck, continuing down his chest, licking down to his naval, tenderly biting the spot right above his hip bone. Morty ran his hands up and down Rick’s thighs, his eyes tilting up in a silent question. He wasn’t sure what he was asking for, really, but now that his mouth was inches away from Rick’s cock, he was stumbling, his heart jumping around like it couldn’t find a place to settle inside his ribcage.

“You scared, baby?” Rick taunted, his self-satisfied smile igniting Morty’s defiance.

“No! I’m—okay, y-yeah, I don’t really know what I’m doing. Can you… tell me what to do? What you want?” Morty hoped Rick wouldn’t find his inexperience tedious and just bail on the whole thing. He knew Rick better than anyone, but he was still a wild card. Rick leaned back on the heels of his hands, his eyes heavy-lidded, his cheeks a bit pink as he looked down at Morty. Morty smiled, relieved that Rick was every bit as turned on as he was. 

“Sit here and lean your head over my lap.” Rick patted the spot to his right, and Morty obeyed. Starting at his neck, Rick ran his hand down Morty’s body, squeezing his ass and dipping his fingers into the cleft, massaging circles across the furled skin of his hole. “Fuucckk, this is the view I want all the time. M-m-maybe I’ll make you get on all fours for me in the living room sometime. Just sit there like the cute little fuck toy you are and not say a goddamn word. Just there for me to look at whenever I feel like it. You-you’d be so hard wondering if someone would come in and catch us, wouldn’t you, you sick little exhibitionist?”

“Mmm,” was the most intelligent thing Morty could say, but the deep throb in his groin said more than any clumsy words could.

“Y-y-you like that, Morty? You just wanna please me, don’t you, baby?” Rick kept playing with his hole, barely dipping the tip of his finger inside, just teasing, driving Morty crazy with the _idea_ of it, and Morty realized they’d been flirting with this “what if” for years. So many almost kisses, near drunk confessions from Rick, a glimmer of lust in Rick’s eyes that Morty would dwell on for days, analyzing every nuance of the moment to figure out if it was real or just wishful thinking. “You wanna make Grandpa feel good, Morty?”

“Aaahh—I—Rick—” Morty was already breathless, those words stoking the heat inside him until he thought he would combust. Morty scrunched the bedspread in his hands and licked his lips as he lifted his chin, moaning when he saw the ragged rise and fall of Rick’s chest.

“God, it kills me how much you fucking _love_ it when I say that. Y-y-you’re not bothered that it’s me. You _want_ that fucking reminder—Morty—” Rick curled his fingers in the hair at the base of Morty’s neck, and pulled, a firm, confident grip that felt so fucking good, Morty’s scalp tingling as his mouth fell open in another moan. “Yeah, that’s it, baby. Keep your mouth open.”

Rick pushed Morty’s head down until the tip of his cock was brushing across Morty’s lips, salty precome dribbling into his mouth. Morty licked the soft skin, swirling his tongue around the head, looking up at Rick for approval.

“Good boy, Morty. So good for Grandpa. Get me nice and wet. I-I about died when you licked the come off my fingers, baby, you know that? You were so hot.”

Morty licked Rick’s cock from root to tip, struck by an odd sense of deja vu. He’d expected to feel unmoored and confused, his enthusiasm clouded by inexperience, but when he let go, pushing away the critical voice that shouted his own inadequacy, his body just took over. There was an innate instinct stored inside him, a muscle memory he had no idea he possessed.

“How does that always happen… and h-how do you still look like a fucking _angel_ with a dick in your mouth?” Rick murmured as Morty sank down, taking as much into his mouth as he could, making a slick, tight seal around Rick’s dick. He frowned at Rick’s words, not quite sure what he meant, but he was too overwhelmed to think about it. He loved being so gloriously full, Rick’s cock nudging at the back of his throat, his hand lovingly petting Morty’s hair. Rick held Morty’s head in place, his hips thrusting up over and over again, drawing obscene squelching noises from Morty’s throat, saliva leaking out of the corners of his mouth. It was so good and… familiar somehow? Morty couldn’t put his finger on it, but he knew he never wanted it to stop, wanted Rick to abuse his mouth every chance he got. Abruptly, Rick pulled Morty up, his cock slipping out with a wet pop. “Stop, stop. Come here.”

Rick hauled Morty into his lap and flipped them over, Morty on his back with Rick above him. 

“C-c-can I fuck you?” Rick panted into his ear, his fingers suggestively dipping between Morty’s cheeks again.

“Please, I want—y-yeah, just do it.” 

Rick gave him a kiss that was entirely too soft for this hard-edged man Morty had once seen bite the head off a Laarvian and spit it back out without skipping a beat. He bent over the edge of the bed and rummaged around in his pants pocket, coming back with a tube that made it abundantly clear they were doing this. 

Morty didn’t realize he’d gulped until he heard it. 

“Okay?” Rick asked with a skeptical tilt of his head, but Morty nodded and spread his legs, hoping it was enough to ward off any of Rick’s misgivings. Rick nodded back with a small smile and coated two of his fingers in lube. It was cold on Morty’s heated skin, but Rick took his time, circling Morty’s hole with the pads of his fingers, warming it up before slowly pushing inside.

Rick was watching him with awestruck eyes, roving over his body like he couldn’t decide what he wanted to taste first, his fingers pumping in and out with such care. Morty didn’t know what to make of it. Rick’s touch was usually a demand, a display of dominance that said _“even your body belongs to me,”_ but now he was touching Morty like he was trying to coax a delicate flower open, deft hands searching for the right caress to make Morty yield naturally. It was almost too much for Morty to handle. It planted dangerous seeds of hope within him, ideas that he knew would be smashed with the sledgehammer of Rick’s volatility soon enough. Trusting in the soft side of Rick was exactly like the frog and the scorpion; it always ended in you drowning as your futile arms flailed for help that would never come.

When Rick removed his fingers, he placed Morty’s legs over his shoulders, mouthing at Morty’s calves for a minute, nuzzling his cheek against the skin like he’d never felt anything more divine, and it reminded Morty of something he couldn’t quite place. There was a rousing current of fuzzy memory, like a picture just under the surface of rollicking water, images that would be clear if only the waves would settle down into stillness. 

As Rick entered him, Morty was startled to find it didn’t hurt. It didn’t even feel weird. It was just… _right._ Like this space inside him only existed for Rick to fill. Rick leaned forward and started fucking him in earnest, but it wasn’t the punishing pace Morty had expected. It straddled the line between gentle and rough, like Rick knew exactly how much to give without breaking him. 

“What?” Rick chuckled. “Y-y-you look like you’re trying to remember something. If you’re thinking that hard, I must not be doing this right.”

“No no, Rick it—it feels perfect. Like you know exactly what I want. It’s just… I didn’t think you’d be like this.” 

“Me either. I never know how I’ll be with you,” Rick whispered, closing his eyes with a low, guttural groan. “Fuck, Morty… every time it’s—so you’ve thought about what I’d be like, eh?”

Rick grinned and swiveled his hips until the head of his cock was pounding against the spot that reduced Morty into a drooling, helpless mess. 

“No I…” Morty realized there was no point in denying it, not with his body melded to Rick’s like he wanted to sew them together forever, his arms thrown around Rick’s shoulders, his face buried in his neck. “Y-yeah, sometimes, but usually just like—” 

“In the abstract sense?” 

“Yeah... I guess it felt…” Morty moaned, all words forgotten as he felt that white hot pleasure building inside him, Rick’s balls slapping against him with every thrust, so deep he wondered if he could press a hand to his stomach and _feel_ Rick inside him. 

“Safer? Like you could pretend it was just—-just curiosity? Like it d-d-didn’t mean anything?” 

Rick’s voice was cracking, and Morty didn’t think it was just from the sex. Was Rick talking about himself? Or both of them?

“R-Rick,” Morty tried to lean back to look at him, but Rick tightened his arms to hold him in place. Maybe that was for the best. If Morty saw something Rick didn’t want him to see, there was a good chance he’d punish him for it later, like it was Morty’s fault he’d let the shield slip. “L-Let’s just stop talking.”

“Yeah…” Rick breathed, fucking him harder. Morty was moaning so loud, broken sounds escaping his mouth with every thrust, that he bit down on Rick’s shoulder to stifle it. Rick sucked on Morty’s neck, mumbling things into his skin that Morty hoped he wouldn’t try to take back later. “You are everything, Morty. Everything. I d-d-don’t give a shit about— _any_ of it but you, baby. You know that, don’t you?” 

“Yes, fuck—it’s the same for me, Rick. I—” Morty bit down again, not willing to let his mouth betray him. Some things you couldn’t take back. Some things were too poisonous to hang in the air after the smoke cleared. 

“C-c-can’t decide if I wanna slow it down and watch or—fuck you so h-h-hard, I can’t see straight.”

“You wanna fuck me hard. _Please.”_

Rick grinned wickedly and reached down to take Morty’s cock in hand, his furious pace matching his thrusts. 

“I-I’m gonna come.” Morty wanted to last a little longer, but it was impossible with Rick’s cock mercilessly hitting his prostate, his skillful hand a blur on Morty’s dick.

“Look at me. Look at me when you come, Morty,” Rick demanded with a low growl, clasping Morty’s chin in his hand. It was hard to look at him. He was beautiful like this—focused only on Morty, an untamed, possessive fire dancing across his eyes—but in a way that hurt too much, the sting of your gaze flicking to the harsh, noonday sun, the after-images blinking across your vision for hours afterward, like you weren’t allowed to see anything else anymore.

“Rick, I—”

_Don’t say it, you idiot._

Luckily, his tongue obeyed him, Rick’s name the only word spilling out of his mouth as he came between their joined bodies, his back bowing off the bed, his muscles quaking as he splashed against Rick’s stomach, a perverse, primal pride in marking him like that. 

“I already fucking owned you, Morty, and n-n-now I own this too,” Rick gasped, fucking Morty’s over-sensitive hole, his lips sliding against Morty’s mouth, his cheek, his neck, his fingers winding in Morty’s sweaty curls. “You’re mine, aren’t you, baby?”

“You-you know I am.” Morty smiled and tenderly stroked Rick’s cheek, his fingers roaming down until they met the raised pink mark across Rick’s left shoulder. Morty remembered that day, the blade coming down as Rick fell to his knees. Morty had jumped on the attacker like a feral animal, locking him into a chokehold until he passed out. Rick had looked so sublimely proud as the man fell to the floor. As Morty kissed that jagged scar, Rick came, his hands bruising Morty’s shoulders, keeping him close even as the aftershocks faded, his moans hot and desperate in Morty’s ear. Morty could feel Rick’s legs shaking against his inner thighs, the jump of Rick’s cock deep in his ass as it emptied inside him. 

Rick pulled out and lay down next to Morty, both of them looking up at the ceiling as they caught their breath. Morty’s head swiveled to the right, searching Rick’s face for any clues as to what he was thinking. Was that calm in his eyes or sorrow?

“Rick, are you, um… are you okay?”

“It’s a chemical reaction, Morty. Look it up. People get sad after they come sometimes. D-d-doesn’t mean anything.”

The silence expanded into a black hole Morty was sure would suffocate them both, but Rick finally dispelled the tension.

“So um,” Rick cleared his throat and turned on his side to face Morty, “d-d-do you wanna go home? Or stay a while?”

If Morty didn’t know any better, he would have said Rick fucking Sanchez sounded _shy._

“I don’t know… we could… watch Interdimensional Cable or something? J-just doesn’t feel right to leave yet, you know? Let’s just hang out for a while.” 

Rick stared at Morty with narrowed eyes but didn’t respond. 

“Wh-what? Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

“Is it a crime to look at you, Morty? I-I mean, Christ, you know I’m attracted to you since I just fucked your brains out so can’t I _look_ at you if I want?”

“No, I mean y-yeah, I just—you seem like something’s bothering you.” 

“Nothing’s bothering me, Morty! H-h-have we already reached the ‘nagging wife who forces you to talk about your feelings’ stage of this relationship?” Rick got up and retrieved the cable box from his lab coat, affixing it to the TV on the wall. “J-j-just shut up and watch TV.” 

“Okay, Rick.” Morty shook his head but didn’t press any further. Getting Rick to open up when he didn’t want to was about as fruitless as Jerry trying to get Summer to talk to him about her life.

After flipping around, Rick landed on the Warped Disney channel, which Morty personally found to be kind of disturbing. It was filmed on a planet where corporations had copyrights on the citizens' dreams, mining their unconscious visions for TV show ideas. It always made for a surreal, not entirely linear structure because everything played out by the unhinged rules of dream logic. Characters accepted something as their home even if it was a triangular piece of rock balanced on top of a grape. People who couldn’t fly the last episode suddenly could with no explanation. Once, Rick had muttered something about how _“this is what happens when your reality’s David Lynch runs a major network,”_ but Morty didn’t really know what he meant.

“You feel okay about this? I mean, y-y-you’re not… you know… upset?” Speaking of surreal, how the fuck had he landed in a universe where Rick was the one breaking the awkward silences? Was _this_ a dream?!

“No, why would I be? I-I wanted to, and it was… it was good. Wasn’t it? Oh no, maybe it wasn’t? I did something wrong. That’s it, isn’t it?” Morty sat up, and Rick joined him, placing a reassuring hand on his back.

“No no, kid. You were—come on, I know you’re not that experienced, but even you have to know I was having the time of my miserable fucking life. Y-y-you have to stop defaulting to blaming yourself for every goddamn thing that happens, Morty.” 

“Pretty sure you reinforce that belief all the time, Rick.”

Instead of spitting out his disagreement, Rick actually shrugged. 

“That’s fair. So… you don’t want me to erase this memory?” 

“What?” Morty whipped his head around and squinted at Rick. “No, of course not. Wait—you can do that?”

“Oh Morty… my sweet, naive baby. Don’t ever change.” Rick kissed the top of his head, but it didn’t placate Morty. Lightbulbs were flickering on in his head, one by one until a whole chain of ideas was lit brightly enough for Morty to see it.

The things Rick had said that were just a little off, the way everything they did in that bed was new but oddly familiar… it hadn’t made sense at first, but Rick’s comment about erasing the memory snapped every piece of the puzzle into its rightful place.

“Oh my god, we’ve done this before.” Morty jumped away from Rick’s touch, and the hefty sigh he let out, the slight flaring of his nostrils was enough for Morty to know. “How many times, Rick?! And why don’t I remember any of them?!”

“You’re a real pain in my ass, Morty. Why can’t you just—h-how are you getting these little flashes of memory?” Rick threw his hands up like he was the one who deserved to be exasperated, like Morty figuring it all out was a bigger inconvenience than him fucking with Morty’s memory like it was a museum to curate however he wanted. “I should have seen this coming. Y-y-you keep showing signs lately, like—” 

“F-fuck you, Rick!” Morty pointed an accusatory finger as he leapt off the bed. “You had the nerve to make me feel like shit about what I did to you, while you’ve been—what? Fucking me over and over again and erasing it so I always think it’s the first time? Wh-what’s even the point of it all? Why go through all the trouble of asking me if I want this and playing this whole scenario off like it was our first time?” 

“I-I-I’m playing out a fantasy, Morty. I have certain points I like to hit.” Rick leaned against the wall with a casual shrug. Morty wanted to hit him. “Look at it this way, Morty. M-most people only get one first time. You’re lucky. You get to have as many first times as you want.”

“That’s the point, Rick! It isn’t what I want! You’ve just decided to do this demented charade for, what, the rest of our lives without ever telling me about it?”

“Since I’ve already been through this a dozen times, do you mind if we skip ahead a little? I b-b-basically have the Morty end of the script memorized.” Rick glowered as he retrieved his flask from the floor, unscrewing the cap and taking a couple swigs. “‘Oh how could you, Rick? What else have you kept from me? You’re such a manipulative bastard, Rick! I hate you! I’m done this time, Rick! I mean it!’ Does that about cover it, Morty? Did I hit all the pertinent points?”

Morty kept his mouth shut as he seethed, Rick’s prescient recap of his thoughts smarting like a fresh mound of salt in Morty’s wounds. 

“Did you even ask yourself if maybe it was _you_ who wanted them removed? If it wasn’t all your sinister mustache-twirling grandpa’s fault? If maybe it takes two to fuck up this bad?! I mean, I’ve never raped you, Morty. Which means we keep-UURRPP-keep falling into this trap because we both want it. I-I can’t erase memories if they don’t happen, but you keep _wanting_ to fuck me again.”

“Get dressed. We’re going the fuck home, Rick.”

“Whatever, Morty. Y-y-you’re always more trouble than you’re fucking worth.” 

Morty tried to ignore that stinging barb. Rick always lashed out when someone else got the first strike in. He tried to hurt the other person badly enough that he’d forget his own pain.

Morty wondered how well that was working out for him.

  
  


***

The drive home was as quiet as Morty expected. He was torn between letting his thoughts gush out of his mouth and keeping a lid on them forever. After all, what difference would it really make? Rick had a habit of belittling Morty’s vulnerability in a way that made progress nearly impossible.

Morty chewed his lip, a nebulous idea forming. 

What did he have to lose? Might as well test the theory before all of this was forcibly blinked out of existence.

“Why does everything have to be an elaborate scheme? You could have just like…” 

“Asked you ‘hey Morty, wanna fuck?’ You th-think that would have gone over well, do you, Morty?”

“Yeah, actually. I really wanted this. I was ready for it.” Morty ignored the razor-edge of Rick’s tone, hoping to disarm him with this open confession.

“W-w-well… maybe, but I’m sort of the expert in ‘Morty losing his virginity,’ and my data points to a no for that. You like being—you need me to take the majority of the blame for inciting the whole thing. Makes you feel less guilty that way. Notice how you didn’t ask for me to erase it? Y-y-you were cool with it when it was over? That’s not always how it goes.”

“But that _is_ how it went this time, and clearly we’re just going to keep doing it anyway.”

“It’ll stop someday. You’ll get older. You’ll see other people. You’ll forget about how you want me like this. And your first time, the time you _remember_ as your first time, can be with someone normal. Some sh-shitty fumbling at a party like it’s supposed to be.” 

“I don’t want that.” 

“It’s what’s _supposed_ to happen, Morty. I’m trying to do the right thing for once here, Morty.” 

“I don’t want you to do the right thing. I want you to be Rick. I want you to take what’s yours.” 

“Fuck—Morty, you can’t say shit like that.” Rick landed the ship in the driveway of their house, turning the engine off, the deafening hush of the street painful to Morty’s ears.

“You’re going to erase this too, aren’t you?”

“Morty, it’s for the best. Trust me. The alternative? I-i-it’s not a road that ends well for either of us. Just…” Rick ran his fingers through Morty’s hair, his hand coming to rest on Morty’s cheek. “Know that I love you, okay? I-I-I love you so fucking much, it’s ruining me, but I don’t care because I was ruined already. Nice to be ruined by something good for once, you know? And I will always love you. Even when you _do_ fuck someone else, even when you get married and start a mundane, suburban breeder life, I’m gonna love you and want you so bad, it’s like someone’s twisting a red hot poker straight through my cold, dead heart, because there’s no one else for me but you, Morty. It’s a terrible, unbearable, agonizing, excruciating thing, and you know what? It’s also the best thing I’ve ever felt.” Rick kissed Morty’s forehead, an apologetic, feather-light touch of his lips. Morty knew Rick didn’t think he was paying enough attention to see Rick’s free hand reaching into the backseat, his fingers wrapped around the handle of a machine with two whirring circles of light, waves of electricity dancing around the edges.

“I love you too, Rick. And thanks for confirming my theory.”

“What theory?” Rick raised an eyebrow, unable to resist hearing more about this, just as Morty knew he would.

“You-you don’t just take these memories because you think it’s a bad idea for us to be together. You take them because you always tell me things you’d never let me remember. And you _like_ telling me your feelings. You like having this safe space to do it, erasing all the evidence afterward so it’s like it never happened.”

“Fuck you, Mor—” Rick started, but then he stopped. He sighed and stared at Morty for a long, unnerving moment. “Fine, maybe I do. Guess it doesn’t matter if you know that since you won’t be remembering any of—”

As Rick raised his hand, the blue and white lights of the machine coming into view, Morty seized Rick’s wrist, wrenching the contraption out of his grandpa’s hand.

“You little shit! Gimme that!” Rick grabbed Morty’s arm, and they wrestled back and forth, the memory eraser still secure in Morty’s hand. “Y-y-you don’t know what you’re doing with that thing, Morty! It’s dangerous to be waving it around like—”

A blinding flash of light filled the ship, and Morty blinked, spots filling his vision. As he looked down, he saw he was still holding the machine.

“Rick? Are-are you okay?”

“Who are you?” Rick swept his eyes up and down Morty suspiciously, but he was oddly softer than usual. Not accosting Morty, just awash in a state of confusion and looking for help. “Actually, who the hell am _I?”_

“Oh shit…” Morty mumbled, firing off a text and praying that his instincts were right.

  
  


***

  
  


“So how did you know to text me?”

“I-I just thought, well, you’re the only person in the family Rick would trust to do this? I-I mean, it can’t be either of us,” Morty gestured between him and Rick, who was looking thoroughly bewildered as his eyes roamed around the room, taking in all the colored vials, “and it’s sure as shit not gonna be Mom or Dad.”

“Gotta hand it to you, little bro, you’re not as dumb as you look,” Summer said as she unlocked a panel in the wall, taking out a tranquilizer gun and some instructions written on a thick red card.

“Thanks. I-I wish _he_ would appreciate that.” Morty scowled at Rick, who waved his arms around in disbelief.

“Eh, he appreciates it in his own way. He’s just not brave enough to tell you.”

“Hey-hey, I don’t know what the hell is going on, but—” Rick protested, palms upturned in surrender.

Summer fired the gun, the dart whizzing an inch from Morty’s head and landing in Rick’s shoulder.

“Come on, Morty. You grab his legs.” Summer hooked her hands under Rick’s armpits, and Morty dutifully grasped Rick’s ankles. “Whew, nice to finally have help carrying this old bastard to the couch. You seriously have no fucking idea how much you two idiots owe me.”

They maneuvered his body into a sitting position on the couch, and Summer pulled a tube of smelling salts from her pocket. She hovered over Rick but didn’t use them yet, turning to Morty with a quizzical frown.

“What happened, by the way? Surprised he told you about the mindblowers outside of the mindblower cave.”

“Oh… it’s… don’t worry about it, okay?”

“Whatever, Morty. Not my Instaskank, not my PR problem.”

“I-I think the phrase is actually ‘not my monkeys, not—”

“Shut up, Morty. I’ve got better shit to do tonight.” Summer waved the salts in front of Rick’s nose, and when he started to stir, she turned around and headed upstairs. 

“Wh-whoa… what the fuck? How long was I out?” Rick rubbed his head and turned to Morty, his eyes drooping sleepily.

“Uh—not long. _Ball Fondlers?”_ Morty needed a distraction, and he needed it right away. _Ball Fondlers_ was a bombastic, explosion-laden, ADHD romp of violence and “plot.” The perfect choice.

“Y-y-yeah, sounds good.” Rick walked up to the TV, groaning as he languidly stretched his arms above his head, and attached the box.

Morty’s phone dinged, and he looked down to see a text from Summer.

_Look Morty I know Grandpa Rick is like… a manipulative piece of shit, but don’t go looking through those memories. I know ur mad he’s been fucking with ur head, but who knows what you’ll find there… sometimes ignorance really is fucking bliss. I mean, look at Tricia. Being dumb with big tits has made her life about a 1000 X better than mine_

Morty laughed and put his phone back in his pocket.

“The fuck are you laughing at? And who the hell texts you besides me?”

“H-hey, Rick? I’ll be back in a minute, okay.”

“Be back in an hour, a week. The fuck do I care?” Rick dug his flask out of his pocket and took a drink. Morty walked toward the stairs, looking behind him to make sure Rick wasn’t watching, and then took a turn toward the garage instead.

The color drained from Morty’s face as he descended into the secret room. There was no telling what Rick would do if he found him there, but he had to know.

Where to look though? The room was overwhelmingly large. There were purple, red, and blue tubes everywhere. 

Morty ran his hands around the sides of the shelves, feeling for any sort of groove or notch, anything out of the ordinary, but he didn’t find anything.

He sat down in the middle of the room and faced the vials, staring intently as though they’d reveal their secrets if he only looked long enough.

“Shit… you’re a cocky bastard. Of course you wouldn’t hide it.” Morty shot up and walked close enough to read the labels on the vials. “You don’t think I’m smart enough to find your stash.”

Eventually, near the middle of the wall, in the center shelf, Morty saw a cluster of red vials. Every other section had a sampling of all the colors, but this one was completely red. There were at least a dozen glass tubes. Morty selected one in the second row from the front. It was labeled “Glorzo.” 

Morty grabbed the helmet Summer had shown him and sat in the chair, helmet in one hand and vial in the other. Summer had a point. There was a real Russian roulette gamble to this, but Morty had to know. He was absolutely sure he wouldn’t be able to think about anything else until he did this. Besides, knowing him, he’d wear that distress on his face until Rick guessed the cause of it and erased his knowledge of this memory cave, robbing him of the opportunity.

Morty let out a long breath and popped the memory in.

“I-I remember it, Rick. It’s like I was aware of everything but just paralyzed, sitting in the back of my brain while someone else controlled it.” In the memory, Morty was sitting on the couch with Rick, a cushion strategically left between them. “I-I didn’t remember at first, but after we’d been free a while, it started to trickle back. And when Summer mentioned—you know, the thing about Steve and Bruce? Um…” 

When Morty read that label, he had a feeling the memory would start here. Something about the Glorzo incident had always snagged in his memory bank, a significance that he couldn’t quite grasp, a sunken feeling in his belly like the dread he always felt walking to the front of the class to give an assigned speech. It wasn’t bad, exactly, just… adrenaline laced with uneasy anticipation. 

“Yeah... maybe we should go talk somewhere.” Memory Rick got up from the couch and gestured for Morty to follow him. They went to Rick’s room, and, to Morty’s surprise, Memory Morty immediately pressed Rick up against the wall and kissed him. It was sexy to watch it like this, a privilege he wasn’t afforded when he was _in_ the moment. Normally, it wasn’t possible to stand outside of your body and watch yourself, but now Morty was able to see Rick’s hands cascade down his back and twine in his hair. He was watching himself grind against Rick with an urgent neediness, and he couldn’t help but think about how he’d done that earlier today.

“Morty, I—” Rick started to say. They were on his small cot now, Rick kneeling between Morty’s spread legs. 

“Rick, think about what Steve said. Maybe this _is_ evolution. Maybe this is progress. I-I mean, it’s not like we can have kids or something. So… if this makes us happy, and it’s not hurting anyone…” Memory Morty said, stroking the side of Rick’s face, trying to coax him back.

“Are you sure?” Rick asked, turning his head and kissing each of Morty’s fingers.

“Yeah… I am.” Morty smiled, and they kissed slow and deep, shedding their clothes and lying down. 

Morty watched Rick go down on him. He watched Rick’s rapt eyes as he took him from behind, the most loving, pure expression on his face, like this was the pinnacle of happiness for him. He saw his own face looking like that too, placid and flushed as he rode Rick’s cock, smiling dreamily every time Rick told him what a good boy he was, how well he was taking it.

After they finished, Morty fell asleep, and Rick gently extricated himself from Morty’s arms. He sat on the edge of the bed and smoked a cigarette while he watched Morty sleep, skating a hand over his arms and back every now and then. It was dark in the room, only moonlight streaming in from a gap in the blinds, so it was hard to see Rick’s face. Morty heard a sniffle and a gulp. Was Rick crying? He stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray on the nightstand and pulled the memory gun from under the bed, pointing it at Morty’s head. There was a flash, and—

Morty gasped as he opened his eyes. He was back in the memory cave. Walking up to the shelf, he placed “Glorzo” back in its slot and selected the one below it. 

This one was short. They were cuddling on the couch late at night. Everyone else must have gone to bed because Rick didn’t hesitate when Morty started feeling him up. He was demure at first, his little hands petting Rick’s chest and then retreating like he was afraid something might bite his fingers off. Rick seemed to be enjoying it. While Memory Morty had his cheek pressed to Rick’s breast, his eyes glued to the TV, Morty was able to see all vantage points, including Rick’s lewd smile as he looked down at Morty clinging to him, tentatively touching him and moving away and touching again, unable to resist the temptation even though he was clearly scared of the outcome.

Eventually, Rick placed his fingers under Morty’s chin and tilted it up, drinking his lips in with a hungry kiss. It wasn’t long until Morty was naked from the waist down, Rick’s pants pulled down around his thighs as he lowered Morty onto his cock.

They were mindful of the need to be quiet, Morty’s sister and parents asleep upstairs, and something about the hushed gasps and muted moans, the secrecy of the two of them, fucking late at night in the middle of the living room they shared with their family, was the hottest thing Morty had ever seen. It was so intimate. A shared clandestine thing, a feverish rush to claim each other because they couldn’t wait. Even though they both knew it was a risk, they couldn’t _wait._

Afterward, they cleaned up and got dressed, but they didn’t leave the couch. They sat next to each other, exchanging sly smiles and soft chuckles, Rick’s hand resting on Morty’s thigh, Morty stroking up and down his forearm.

“D-do you remember the first time you wanted me like this?”

Rick turned his head sharply, like he hadn’t expected Morty to ask that. 

“M-Morty, I… Look, the first time wasn’t some romantic starry-eyed shit. Y-y-you’re not gonna like it. It’s just proof that I’m depraved. It’ll make you think about how fucked all of this is.” 

“Tell me.” Memory Morty was insistent, nothing wavering in his voice. 

Rick looked him up and down, considering it for a second, and then he answered.

“You were twelve. Y-y-you were in my lap, and when you looked up at me with that sweet innocent smile, I couldn’t stop thinking about what those lips would look like covered in my come.”

“Y-you’ve really wanted me for that long?” Memory Morty asked with a broad grin, jabbing a teasing elbow in Rick’s ribs. “Dirty old man.”

“Hey! Y-y-you little shit,” Rick laughed, tickling Morty under the armpits. They wrestled around for a bit until they fell back into kissing. It was a lovely memory. They kissed and cuddled and made fun of each other, but it was sweet. None of the biting sarcasm that was Rick’s favorite defense mechanism. He was sincere with Morty too. Even if he made a comment about Morty being a nosy little shit or something when he asked a personal question, he answered it all the same.

When Morty emerged from the memory, he couldn’t figure out why Rick had erased it. What was damaging about them enjoying each other’s company? That was clearly a night between two people who knew how to talk to each other, who knew what made the other one tick. 

It was also from only six months ago. Judging from the vials in the Glorzo row, the newest ones were at the front. Morty selected one from the back, and sure enough, once the “film” started to roll, he could see that it was from a couple years ago. 

They fucked in the back of the ship, both high on the adrenaline of a near-death experience, their hands reaching for each other before they knew what they were doing. It was a frenzy more than anything else, a decision that wasn’t really made. Morty always thought “it just happened” was a meaningless excuse made by simple-minded men who botched their marriages, but this memory and the next three he watched proved otherwise. As he viewed the older encounters, continuing forward in time until he caught up to present day, a clear pattern emerged. Rick was right: some of the memories had been erased at Morty’s behest, specifically the first four. The circumstances varied, but the line of events followed the same trajectory each time. They had feverish, thoughtless sex, running on pure instinct without considering the fallout, and then, after it was over, Morty would slowly devolve into a state of panic that always ended with him telling Rick he regretted it. That he wished he could take it back. Rick, with an unmistakable dejection in his eyes, would oblige Morty’s request, no convincing needed. 

But as the memories progressed, something else happened. Rick started telling Morty things he wouldn’t otherwise. It was clear that he felt more secure knowing Morty wouldn’t remember any of it, so why not tell Morty he loved him? Why not tell him he wished they could be together like this always? There was one thing Rick didn’t count on though: Morty stopped asking for the memories to be erased. Rick was mystified by this development, stuttering out all the disastrous possibilities, the worst case scenarios that he thought would turn Morty’s opinion, but it didn’t work. Morty was unflinching in his resolve, but Rick kept deleting them anyway. 

Despite Rick being the one to eradicate the memories, Morty noticed that, if too much time passed without them having sex, Rick would engineer conditions to make it happen again. One memory involved Rick “accidentally” dosing Morty with aphrodisiac spores, another showed Rick taking them on a needlessly elaborate adventure that involved them pretending to be a couple.

Morty touched the last vial, the one resting next to the couch memory from six months ago, and loaded the cartridge into his helmet. This one didn’t have any sex in it. It was just the two of them arguing in this very room.

“I-I ruin everything I touch, Morty. You know that!” Rick gesticulated wildly, pacing the room. 

“What’s the difference, Rick?! You ruin me every other fucking way, and it’s fine, but this isn’t? It-it doesn’t make any sense.” Morty threw up his arms, following Rick around the room. “Why—” 

“I don’t know, Morty!” Rick spun around, towering over Morty, his words pouring out in a fuming rush. “Emotions aren’t meant to make sense. Th-they’re not equations you can solve. Believe me, I’ve tried. When we first started adventuring, I told you that. Remember when I told you not to make the same mistakes as your parents, to focus on science? This fucking—this bullshit is why! There might not be any logic behind it, but for whatever reason, I feel better keeping it like this. It feels—” 

“Controlled,” Memory Morty said. That stopped Rick in his tracks. Morty grabbed Rick’s hands, holding each of them in his own. “Rick… you can’t control this, you fucking hypocrite! You literally just said emotions aren’t equations.” 

“I-I can control it! I _am_ controlling it! That’s what these are!” Rick dropped Morty’s hands and made a sweeping gesture toward the wall of colored tubes. 

“D-does it really feel like you have any control over this anymore? Like any of this is helping?! I mean, look at h-how many times this has happened!”

“No, Morty,” Rick admitted. “It doesn’t feel controlled anymore. B-but it’s all we have. I’m sorry, baby. Really, I am.” 

Rick picked up the memory gun from the floor. Morty lunged at him with a shrieking “no,” but it was too late. There was a flash, and the memory was over. 

Morty took the helmet off and sat in the middle of the room for a while, hugging his knees to his chest, before he finally left and headed back to the living room.

“You were gone a while,” Rick said as Morty sat next to him on the couch.

“Y-yeah… sorry,” Morty replied even though Rick couldn’t really know what he was sorry for.

“How many did you watch?”

“Wh-what? How did you—”

“Y-y-you can’t have your memory completely erased and put back, all in the span of a few minutes, without it leaving traces. It’s sort of like a mild hangover. Y-y-you feel tired and heavy, and then there’s that coppery taste in your mouth.” Rick turned his attention back to the TV, an episode of _House Hunters_ flashing across the screen, but he kept sneaking peripheral glances at Morty.

“Rick, when it gives your memory back, how does it work? L-like does it start right before you got mindblown?” 

“I don’t have the t-t-time to explain technology your pea brain can’t grasp, but yes, Morty. That’s what happens, and that’s all you need to know. Now what memories did you watch?” 

“Can I sit in your lap?” 

“What? I—Morty I asked you a question, a very fucking important question—” 

“Yes or no?” 

“Wh-what if your parents walk in, Morty? What then?”

“Let them. I-I don’t fucking care, Rick.” Morty climbed into Rick’s lap, held his face between his small hands, and kissed him. Rick was stubborn at first, his arms stiff at his sides, but it didn’t take long before he returned the kiss, his hand resting in the small of Morty’s back, dipping under his yellow t-shirt.

“You watched them all, didn’t you?”

“It-it was kind of nice, in a way. Our own private scrapbook. You tried to stop us from having a relationship, but we ended up having one anyway, didn’t we? Even if you take it away again, I’m glad I got to see it.” 

“Morty, listen to me. I-i-it’s for your own good. Someday, when you’re older, you’ll thank me for—” 

“Rick, I love you. I want you, and you wanted me too. You _still_ do. I know you do. There’s a whole fucking room of memories that proves it. Can’t we just have this? If the world is as fucked up and meaningless as you think it is, can’t we just let ourselves have this? If-if it doesn’t matter, why do you want to erase this?” 

“Because it _does_ matter, Morty. This matters too fucking much for comfort.” Rick picked Morty up and removed him from his lap, getting up and walking toward his room. Morty jogged after him, shutting the door behind them. “Really, Morty? Following me to my room? Are we writing our own sh-shitty one act play for local theater?”

“Y-you’re not running to erase this. Why?” 

“Because you’re right, Morty. There’s no point. Y-y-you’d find your way back there again. We both would. Some shit repeats itself on loop for the rest of our fucking lives, like your stupid milquetoast father’s tenacious genes finding their way to my daughter’s uterus across timelines.” Morty thought there was something poetic about that, but Rick described it like it was a curse. 

“Don’t say that. We’re not like them.” 

“We are Morty. Everyone is. No one's love is the special exception to mediocrity and stifling assimilation.” 

“Don’t say that.” Hot tears spilled down Morty’s cheeks, his hands balling into fists at his side.

“Morty, look at yourself. You-you’re crying over your _grandfather_ telling you he doesn’t want to have an incestuous relationship with you. Think about how fucked that is. We’re already knee-deep in the pig shit of this repetitive chemical lie, and we haven’t even really started.” 

“We have started. We started a long time ago. You-you’ve been trying to get me to want you for a long time.” Sifting through the recaps of all their “first times” had reminded Morty of everything Rick had done to goad him into this, and once he started ticking the boxes off, he found there were more than he’d ever noticed before. Rick had been acclimating Morty to the idea of a sexual relationship with him bit by bit, testing Morty’s boundaries with nudity and affection every possible way. It had been happening for _years,_ and it was supremely stupid of Rick to spend all that painstaking time only to leave Morty out in the cold. It felt like being punished, and for what? Doing exactly what Rick wanted? 

“Go away, Morty.” Rick sat on the edge of the bed and hung his head in his hands.

“Look at me,” Morty yanked Rick’s hands away and stood in front of him, trying to force Rick to look at him, “You don’t get to spend years molding me into what you want only to abandon me when I finally want it too. I-I was right about you opening up to me. You’re too fucking scared to do it unless you can erase it afterwards.” 

“Y-y-you want a Nobel Prize? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out I’m not comfortable with my touchy-feely side. I don’t exactly make that a secret, Morty.”

“Doesn’t it mean something that we keep coming together?” 

“Yeah, it means we’re both idiots.” 

“I just wanna be with you, Rick.” 

“Jesus, Morty, how do you think this ends? What’s your big master plan here?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe we go away together. Leave the family, the whole planet behind. Whatever it takes.” Morty ran his hands through Rick’s hair, stroking the back of his neck.

“You really mean that?” Rick’s eyes lit up for a second, but then he shook his head. “No no, I’m not falling for this. I am _not_ susceptible to moronic romantic promises. I am too smart for this shit.”

Morty grabbed Rick by the lapels and kissed him, pushing him onto his back. Rick let Morty grind against him for a bit, but then he flipped them over, pinning Morty to the mattress, his hands on Morty’s shoulders.

“J-just because I’m not erasing this doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind about how fucking stupid this is.”

Morty wriggled out from under Rick, scooting back on the bed and starting to undress.

“M-Morty, what are you—you think my dick is that powerless to the sight of you?”

Morty didn’t say anything. He just cocked a flirty eyebrow as he leaned back on Rick’s bed, completely naked, and started to stroke his dick.

“I know you are, Rick. And you know I know it. I’ve seen them _all,_ Rick. Every single time.” Morty leaned forward and hooked his fingers in Rick’s belt loops, pulling him forward until he fell on top of Morty. 

“You’re so pretty,” Rick whispered, already panting and rutting against him. Morty laughed softly. “What?” 

“You said that last time. You say it every time.” 

“Why else do I say?” 

“That no one else would ever satisfy me. That no one else would ever satisfy _you._ Because we’re made for each other,” Morty whispered between kisses, his hands traveling down Rick’s back and landing on his ass, urging him closer. “You were right, Rick. Can’t you see that?”

They separated long enough for Rick to take his clothes off.

“Get on your stomach,” Rick commanded.

“No.”

“E-excuse me?”

“No one should ever turn their back on a Rick.” 

“Smart boy.” 

“That’s the first time you’ve ever said that.” 

“And it’ll be the last so savor it.”

“Asshole.”

“Snarky little shit.”

“C-can anyone hear us?”

“Oh, _now_ you care. A minute ago it was ‘let the whole family find us dry humping on the couch like two teenage virgins.’ I soundproofed this room years ago, Morty. You can be as loud as you want. In fact, I’m gonna have to insist on it. Y-y-you make the sweetest little bitch-in-heat noises when I tongue-fuck you.” Rick turned Morty onto his stomach, and when Morty tried to squirm out of his grasp, Rick laid on top of him, his hard cock sliding in between Morty’s ass cheeks. He licked and sucked on his neck, leaning in to whisper in his ear, “Wh-what kind of havoc could I really wreak with my tongue deep in that cute little pink hole? L-let me do this, baby. You watched all the memories. You know you love it.”

Images flashed behind Morty’s eyes: Rick’s broad hands spreading him obscenely wide, licking his hole until it was sopping wet, until Morty was thrusting back into it and begging to be fucked.

Rick kissed his way down Morty’s back, lingering at the base of his spine for a long, torturous moment until Morty finally felt warm wetness on that embarrassingly intimate part of him. Although he didn’t want to ever have another memory erased, Rick had a point about it being a privilege, this ability to experience everything all over again. Morty writhed and hid his face in the pillow, grateful Rick couldn’t see how flushed and sheepish he looked. Rick was licking and sucking at his hole like it was a goddamn feast, uttering his own broken grunts and moans that made Morty less self-conscious of the high-pitched desperate nonsense spilling out of his mouth. 

Rick teased him expertly, varying pace and pressure until Morty didn’t know what would happen next, what new motion Rick would use to reduce him to a stuttering mess. Morty’s legs were shaking, his hips grinding into the bed, the sheets both too rough and not enough against his leaking dick. When Rick’s tongue finally breached him, fucking in and out, reminding Morty of everything Rick had done to him with his cock only a few hours ago, Morty couldn’t do anything but chant Rick’s name like a prayer.

Placing a tender bite on each cheek, Rick eased Morty onto his back and made his way up his quivering body, sucking marks everywhere, his eyes gleaming as he soothed the puffy flesh with soft brushes of his tongue. When Rick tried to kiss him, Morty turned his head.

“C-come on, Rick. Not when your mouth has been… you know…”

Rick rolled his eyes. 

“Fine, princess. Wh-whatever your highness requires.” Rick grabbed a bottle of vodka from the floor and swigged until his mouth was full, glaring and pointing to his cheeks as he swished it around, swallowing before hovering over Morty, his forearms leaning on either side of Morty’s shoulders. “Better?”

“Y-yeah.” Morty wrinkled his nose at the pungent scent, but he supposed alcohol was better than tasting your own ass. Soon, Morty got lost in the kiss, too taken with Rick’s weight pressing him into the mattress, his cock sliding against his stomach, to care about where Rick’s mouth had just been. When he felt something cool and smooth in his hand, he opened his eyes. “Lube? Uh… d-do you want me to, like, finger myself for you?”

“No, genius, I want you to fuck me.” Rick pressed another quick kiss to Morty’s cheek and lied down on his back, expectantly spreading his legs. “I-if you watched them all, you know we’ve done this too.”

Rick was right, but for all intents and purposes, this was the first time. Morty couldn’t help but feel nervous about it. Morty shakily opened the tube, holding out his fingers to catch the liquid, but Rick clasped his wrist.

“My asshole gapes like a bell-mouth spillway, Morty. Skip the prep.”

“Wh-what if I want to finger you?” The truth was that Morty wanted to bide his time, hoping to gain composure with his fingers inside Rick, staving off the deep-seated panic about doing this well enough to please him.

“Some other time. Just—now, okay? Please?” Rick softly asked, a placating smile spreading across his lips.

With a nod, Morty moved to kneel between Rick’s legs, mewling when Rick suggestively drew his knees to his chest. Being allowed to see Rick like this, opening his whole body up for Morty to take, felt like a wild tiger bending its head for you to pet. It was a rare gift, but one that still held caveats, a looming omen of the shift that could happen at any moment. Rick wanted him, but Rick still had teeth. He could rip Morty apart whenever he wanted to.

Morty slathered his cock in lube, looking right at Rick as he lined up and pushed in. Rick was biting his bottom lip and watching the point where their bodies were joined, fixated on the slick slide of Morty’s cock swallowed by his ass. Rick’s body hungrily sucked him in, gripping every inch of him like it never wanted to let go, like he belonged there.

“R-Rick, you—god, you feel so good. I fit inside you so—” Morty moaned, making shallow thrusts, stroking the soft skin of Rick’s thighs. 

“I know,” Rick breathed, throwing his head back on the pillow and impatiently thrusting his ass back onto Morty’s dick. “C-come on, baby. Just fuck me hard. I-I can’t even feel it. It’s like someone put a toddler’s finger in there. That the best you got? I-I need—”

Rick’s words evaporated into a chorus of _yes_ and _fuck_ as Morty pushed his knees back and pounded into him, wanting so badly to make it good, to make Rick come on his cock.

“I-I can’t believe you’re letting me—I—does it feel good?” Morty expected an unforgiving retort about how obvious it was, but Rick caught him off guard, apparently as immersed in this as Morty was, no room for anything other than their limbs entwined, Morty so deep inside him, they felt like one body moving together.

“It’s _so_ good. You always—you watch me the whole fucking time. Y-y-you don’t take your eyes off me. You only care about making me feel good, don’t you, Morty?” Rick wrapped his legs around Morty’s waist, keeping him so close that Morty had no choice but to stay deep, deep, deep, his cock barely leaving the snug heat of Rick’s body as he kept thrusting. “T-touch my dick. M-make me come, Morty, make me come, make me come.”

Rick’s words were needy whines, frantic sounds Morty had never heard from that normally confident, sardonic mouth, and it was unbearably hot. Morty reached between their sweat-slick bodies and grasped Rick’s swollen dick, trying to match the pace of his frenzied thrusts, bringing them both closer, closer, closer until Rick painted his hand with thick spurts, his hole clenching around Morty’s cock, his hands clawing at Morty’s shoulders as he said Morty’s name over and over again, covering his face with kisses, telling him to keep going, to come inside him.

“F-fill me up, Morty. I-I-I want your come leaking out of my ass, want it dripping down my thighs—fuck, did you watch the one where I fucked your mouth and came all over your pretty little lips, baby? God, I love it when you let me make you fucking filthy.” 

“K-keep talking, Rick.” Morty was so close, it fucking hurt, and every dirty word that tumbled out of Rick’s mouth brough him closer.

“Y-yeah, I know you need me to talk to you, baby. You’re such a good little whore for Grandpa. Y-y-you do everything you’re told. You let me fucking defile you, and you _love_ it, don’t you? Want to be Grandpa’s personal whore forever, don’t you? Y-y-you never get enough. Such a greedy little slut. _My_ greedy little slut.”

“Y-yeah, I’m your greedy little slut,” Morty whined, his cock pulsing, Rick’s walls squeezing every last drop out of him, his arms spasming around Rick’s shoulders, everything white and fuzzy in his vision. He collapsed on top of Rick, so sated and spent, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to move again. “Rick… I hope you don’t plan on getting up because I think I need to just… lie here.”

Rick chuckled and ran his hands up and down Morty’s back.

“I’m not going anywhere. Like it when you stay inside me after,” Rick murmured.

“Tell me.” Morty lifted his head. Even though it was quickly replaced by calculated boredom, he saw the flicker of understanding in Rick’s eyes. 

“Tell you what?” Rick asked flatly.

“You know what.”

“Christ, Morty, you already saw a bunch of confessional shit on those memories that I’m _graciously_ letting you keep. Don’t push it.” 

_How gracious of you to let me keep my own memories._

Morty tried to flash his best begging puppy dog eyes, which only made Rick’s frown deepen, but he relented anyway.

“I love you, you emotional blackmailing pain in my ass. Okay? Don’t expect to hear it all the time.”

“I love you too, asshole,” Morty laughed, snuggling into Rick’s embrace.

“You know I might leave you one day? You know I might—scratch that, _will_ do unforgivable shit? You-you know I’ll get drunk and say cruel, unforgettable things, and it won’t matter that I didn’t mean them? They’ll still hurt because I can be a mean son of a bitch. I know where to cut so it hurts the most. I can only get _so_ good, Morty. People who try to change… alcoholics, deadbeat dads who get older and realize they fucked up… there’s about a 20-30% potential there. I can’t—some things aren’t ever gonna change with me, and you have to accept it. You’ll probably still want to kill me sometimes.” 

“Good thing I know how to clone you after I rage kill you in a fight.” Morty thought about telling Rick that now it was his turn to ask if they could skip ahead. He’d already heard these reasons and more. Rick had said them all many, many times. 

“You little shit.” Rick tickled his ribs, and Morty wriggled against the touch. A hush fell over the room, but it wasn’t a loaded silence. Morty was content in Rick’s arms. He felt like he could stay in this room forever. “Morty, I just… I have to ask. Why?” 

Morty lifted his head and looked into Rick’s questioning eyes. How to answer that? It wasn’t a simple query. There were a million, strange, atypical, complicated reasons he loved Rick.

“When I was in third grade, I had this friend Kevin—”

“You had a friend?!”

“Shut up!” Morty pinched Rick’s arm, and Rick swatted at his hand. “Kevin had two cats, right? Daisy and Buttercup.”

“Wow, top notch names. Can’t tell an idiot child picked them out. Not at all.”

“Will you listen?! You asked me a question!”

“Fine, Paul Thomas Anderson. Tell me a hundred circuitous anecdotes to make your point.”

“Daisy loved everyone. She would wind around your legs and butt her head against your hand until you petted her, but Buttercup kept to herself. She was super skittish when you’d try to get closer. Everyone kind of just avoided her and went for Daisy because why not, right? It was easy to get Daisy to like you, but… I don’t know… I liked earning Buttercup’s trust. I’d hold out my hand until she sniffed it. I’d give her treats, and eventually, after a few weeks, she let me pet her. It felt like I’d won something, you know? Because she didn’t like just anyone, and she wasn’t easy to figure out like Daisy. You had to spend the time figuring out how to make her happy, how to get her to trust you.” 

“Are you seriously comparing me to some grubby-pawed kid’s mangy cat? I’m not a fucking cat, Morty.”

“You are though. You totally are.”

“I’m not.” Rick flipped Morty off but didn’t say anything else, his eyes falling closed as he stroked Morty’s back.

“Rick? What about you? Why are you finally going to give this a real shot?”

Rick muttered something unintelligible.

“What?”

He cleared his throat and sighed.

“I said… because you make me feel like I’ve won something too.”

“Rick,” Morty gasped, smiling so wide, his cheeks hurt. 

“Excuse me while I get wasted so I can forget I spouted that saccharine garbage. Jesus Christ… I-I’ve lost my fucking mind,” Rick grumbled as he sat up and reached for the vodka. He looked Morty up and down, and his eyebrows drew up high, like he’d had a revelation Morty wasn’t privy to. “Wait here. I’ll be back.”

Rick hastily threw his clothes on, not bothering with the lab coat, and left the room, leaving Morty stewing in jittery, catastrophizing speculation. Luckily, Rick came back quickly, but Morty’s whole body went cold when he saw what Rick was holding.

“No! Rick, no, please! Come on, you said—”

There was a blinding flash of light, the kind Morty was well-acquainted with now, and he lifted his head, expecting the past day and all the secrets he’d uncovered in the mindblowers cave to be wiped from the landscape of his brain.

What he saw instead was the memory gun lying in pieces on the floor.

“Rick… you…”

“Y-yeah, well…” Rick rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes moving up and to the left in a way Morty recognized. Rick always wore that expression when he’d done something sentimental and sincere but didn’t want to cop to it. “I had this feeling like you’d be all jumpy and worried until I removed the possibility of—”

Rick let out an “oof” as Morty squeezed the air out of his lungs, enveloping him in a tight hug. Rick’s arms wrapped around Morty’s shoulders.

“C-can’t believe I made a grand, sweeping romantic gesture of faith. I’ve become a walking cliché. Please put me out of my misery,” Rick complained, but he kissed Morty ardently, his fingers combing through Morty’s curls. “So what do you wanna do now, kid?”

“An hour where I get to ask anything I want, and then you can fuck my mouth.”

“An hour?! Are you insane? That’s a gross inequity—a-a—beyond exploitative exchange of labor here! Five minutes.” 

“Thirty,” Morty countered. 

“Fifteen.” 

“Twenty.” 

“Ten. Final offer, you little terrorist.” 

“Deal.”

“God, an hour?!” Rick exclaimed. “How could you ever think that would happen? You’re so stupid—” 

“I’m not stupid. Start with an absurd number and you’ll end up getting closer to what you want at the end of the negotiation than you would if you’d started with a reasonable demand. You taught me that.”

“Damn, that’s fucking hot, Morty. I-I love it when you get devious. You should do it more. Like that fucking somno shit? Damn, baby… your needy little ass just grinding against me to get off… let’s do it for real next time, yeah?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I want to actually be asleep the whole time. Oh!” Rick excitedly gripped Morty’s shoulders. “M-maybe I should be drugged up too because I’m a light fucking sleeper. Something that will keep me out for a long time so you-you can do whatever you want: suck my dick, fuck my mouth, fuck my ass raw, come all over me. God, I want that so bad… but you have to record it so I can jerk off to it later!”

“Jeez, Rick, that’s…” Morty wanted to say it was abhorrent, reprehensible, revolting, and wrong, but… “so fucking hot.”

“I know, right? Kudos to you for putting it in my head, you pervert.”

“I mean, I couldn’t have done it without you scheming to get me in bed, so I guess we both get perv credit for this one. God, we’re really fucking twisted…”

“Yep. A picture perfect, fucked up match, Morty.” 

“Yeah… I guess we are.” Morty beamed up at Rick, standing on his tiptoes to kiss him. 

He knew Rick wasn’t wrong about all the distraught warnings he’d given. 

All of that would happen. 

All of it and more. 

But Morty didn’t care. Hell, he’d already lived through most of those things with Rick, and although he came out the other side with scars marring both his skin and his mind, he came out stronger and wiser too. He couldn’t wait to live a hundred more gloriously fucked up, magical, terrifying, unique years with Rick. 

When a wild, beautiful creature lets you touch them, you don’t run away. You hang on for the ride of a fucking lifetime. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos give me life! So please let me know if you've enjoyed this; I always love hearing from you all. :) And also, please check out the accounts of the amazing artists who made art for this fic! I feel so damn blessed to have these beautiful pieces of art in my life.


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